


give ‘em hell, darling

by mechanicalUniverses



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angelic Bodies, Aziraphale’s POV, BAMF Aziraphale, Changing POV, Descriptions of Bodily Horror, Dialogue Heavy, Divine Retributions, Eldritch Angels, Events Based on TV Show, Gabriel is ass of hole but is also a dumb of ass, Happy Ending, Heaven’s BS Justice System, Hierarchy of Angels, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Death, Panic Attacks, Sassy Aziraphale, Shenanigans, Temporary Angelic Deaths, and those two things are a very poor combination when you want to get things done!, discorporation, i'd be done with heaven's shit too, it isn’t lighthearted in some parts, jail cell, political manipulation, sensory issues, tags to be updated, theological discussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalUniverses/pseuds/mechanicalUniverses
Summary: The Archangels come up with a plan to force Aziraphale to accept a recall to Heaven. They send another angel in his place to keep Crowley in line.Or at least, that's how they want it to go.





	1. Plan

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in two hours because i wanted it to exist. i have no idea if i’ll update this a lot or not but i needed it out of my system.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archangels come together to forge a (technically) four step plan to charge, collect, and punish a particularly troublesome Principality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically what it says on the tin.

One month has passed since the failed executions of the rogue Principality and the practically feral demon. One month and one week have passed since the Great Plan had, to put it bluntly, flopped. Miserably. The twenty million angels of Heaven were not bloodthirsty creatures, but they were filled with a righteous sense of justice that has burned for literal millennia. They had been promised a great War against the greatest Evils of the universe, a chance to banish them for the greater good—and it had not happened. 

Someone had to atone for it.

Her Archangels, Second Order of the Third Hierarchy of Heaven, came together and unanimously agreed that that ‘someone’ was a certain agent of Heaven currently dispatched on Earth. Admittedly, the shocking ineffectiveness of hellfire was dismaying and worrisome. But no angel was able to escape divine retribution forever. Something had to be done.

The Archangels knew the first step was to remove the Principality from Earth. They submitted to the Principality’s domain when they descended to Earth. Earth was now where the Principality was the most powerful. It would not do to subdue him there, hence the, ahem, rushed collection at the time of his execution. Obviously, they would need to do something similar again.

This, however, was quickly proving to be unfortunately complicated. Summoning an angel from against their will was unrighteous, not to mention extraordinarily difficult. Summoning an angel, who, according to the paperwork, was actually in a higher order of the Divine Hierarchy, to go somewhere he did not want to go was impossible. Hence the humiliating display of force Heaven had to fall back to in order to deliver the Principality to his fate. Since that had not ended the way it should have, the Principality would surely be on guard now. Tying him up and frog-marching him up to Heaven would not work a second time.

Step two was getting the Principality to stay _put_. The Quartermaster and the line of Heavenly soldiers ten feet away from him had not been able to lay a finger on him before he was back on Earth in three minutes flat, even without a body. The Principality was in hard to catch and harder to keep.

Therefore, an amendment to step one had to be made. Physical force would not work. It would take the specialized interpretations of the Great Laws that bounded every creature of angel stock to Her. They, from every blazing seraph to a plain angel, had been created with the Laws sewn into their very being; there was no way to be totally free of them. With the right words, the Principality would have to come to Heaven and  _ stay _ in Heaven, and would not be able to leave unless explicitly stated otherwise.

Step three was replacing the Principality. There was no denying that this particular Principality was the most knowledgeable in human affairs out of any Heavenly being, second only to the Almighty. But they could not exactly leave Earth alone with a demon to traipse its lands as it so pleased. Clearly, a replacement would need to be found. Surely, there was another angel somewhere who had taken an affinity to humans the same way the Principality had six thousand years ago. As a bonus, they would not have that damned soft spot for demons and could eradicate the one on Earth for good. This, reasoned the Archangels, should not be terribly difficult.

Step four was figuring out what disciplinary actions should be taken. Hellfire was what the Principality deserved, but obviously, it would not work. This step was shelved for when steps one through three proved to be a success.

The Archangels assigned each other their roles. Sandalphon, as one of the most adept with their words, would go to Earth with the papers and officially recall the Principality to Heaven. Uriel would be waiting for the Principality to appear while Michael, who presumably had been searching for and found an appropriate angel to replace the Principality, delivered the new angel to Earth. Gabriel would be on standby as backup if anything went horrifically wrong.

The Archangels disbanded the meeting feeling cautiously optimistic.

Far, far above them, the Almighty let out a booming, cosmo-rattling laugh and settled back with a grin.

Far, far below them, on Earth, a blissfully unaware angel and a demon were chattering and laughing for entirely different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it appears i have forgotten to link my tumblr account. if you wanna come chat with me, you can do so [ i will also be posting chapters there now if you wanna give them a reblog :D](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/)


	2. Step 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon appears to read Aziraphale his charges and to collect him from Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out i have more ideas! enjoy :^) i’ll go back and reformat the first chapter a bit to make it more multi-chapter friendly because this is my first multi chap fic in like....... years

“An’, get this angel.”

“What?”

“She told ‘im, ‘nothin’ wrong with the economy, just get your arse up and find a job!’” Crowley hooted loudly, sloshing a considerable amount of wine down the fist gripping the stem of the glass. Aziraphale, glassy-eyed, miracled it back into the cup. “An’ she hasn’t worked in _ years! _”

Aziraphale shook his head, tutting. “What did you do?”

“Nicked her credit card and left it for the bum.”

“Crowley…! Alright, I would have given him money anyway. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, or something like that.”

“See, you get it.”

A very sharp rapping on the door rudely interrupted Crowley’s drunken rendition of a fool he had made out of a woman on the street criticizing a homeless man.

“Someone’s here,” said Crowley after a minute.

“Obviously,” said Aziraphale. “Doors don’t knock themselves.”

“No, I bloody well know _that!_” hissed Crowley, drunkenness slurring his vigilance. “Someone’s _ here! _ Aren’t you closed right now?” He stiffened abruptly, nostrils flaring slightly. “I can feel it—someone holy. Smells like bleach.”

Oh, dear. Murmuring some very mild curses, Aziraphale quickly sent the alcohol in his system back into the bottles and then told the bottles to return to the dusty cabinets from which they came. He straightened his bow-tie and after he swallowed dryly, called, “One moment, please!”

“What the Heaven do they want? I thought you said they’d leave us alone!” hissed Crowley. He had sobered himself up as well and was agitatedly pacing back and forth, shooting poisonous looks at the closed door, which shuddered fearfully in its doorframe.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said. 

“We’ve wasted enough time already,” said a sharp voice, laced with—glee? That couldn’t be good. Aziraphale pushed down his growing concern and made for the door. “Open up. I know you’re not—ah.”

“Good day, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale greeted tersely. “What business brings you to Earth?”

“You,” Sandalphon answered with a grin that was too wide to be natural. His gold-teeth, hardly having to be changed for his human appearance, glinted. He produced a stack of papers and brandished them. “You’re being recalled to Heaven.”

The shot of dread that fired through Aziraphale’s body made him feel weak-kneed. He resisted stumbling by sheer force of will and managed to coolly ask, “Why?”

Sandalphon stepped inside the room without invitation. He glanced derisively about, empty eyes moving derisively from Aziraphale’s dusty shelf of not-for-sale (read: favorite) books, to the antique rug, and finally, to Crowley, who curled his lip and let his forked tongue flicked menacingly. “Your performance lately has been lacking,” Sandalphon said, refocusing his stony stare on Aziraphale. “Heaven has decided you’re no longer the best suited for this job.”

Crowley snorted ungracefully while Aziraphale blinked disbelievingly.

“You’re kidding,” said Crowley. “Was there another angel who’s secretly been on Earth this whole time?”

“Am I—Am I being fired?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

Sandalphon’s plastic grin stretched wider, somehow. “No. You’re being recalled. You _ should _be fired, but this is the next most appropriate action to take.”

“That’s not—Never mind.” Aziraphale discreetly wiped his hands on the backside of his coat. “What about my, erm, performance has been failing?”

Sandalphon gestured to Crowley. “Obviously,” he said shortly, “_ that _ has not been permanently banished to the deepest pits of Hell.”

Aziraphale bristled as Crowley loudly said, “I am _ right here. _”

“And,” Sandalphon continued, unperturbed, “your reports have been disappointingly lackluster. You’ve reported nearly the exact same interactions with humanity from this particular part of the world for the last year, and the year prior to that, and the year prior to that. And the two hundred before that.” He sighed in the morose manner you’d expect from a greedy boss denying you a raise. “Our expectations for you have simply not been met.”

Azirphale gritted his teeth and forced out, “May I see _ exactly _what expectations you are referring to?”

To his surprise, Sandalphon actually handed over the papers. Aziraphale took them, staring suspiciously at first at Sandalphon, then the papers. Crowley’s lip curled as Sandalphon pointed out a paragraph on the first page.

“You’ll see here that the terms to your assignment are laid out quite clearly,” he said. Lines began to highlight themselves in golden light, obviously larger points of discussion. Aziraphale scowled. He filed his own taxes to the point of investigation by the British government, for Heaven’s sake, he knew how to read the small-print. The light only served to amplify the bleak blackness of the curling Enochian. “To begin, you were given the task of protecting the humans of the Garden of Eden from Evil. This included the terrible temptation of Eve.” Sandalphon shot Crowley a nasty look. He shrugged unapologetically. “You were charged with a Holy Blade of Flame by the Almighty to assist you in this task. However, you lost it mere week later, and it ended up in the hands of the one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, War.”

“It—That was to help the humans! It was in the name of good!” Aziraphale did not like where this was going. “It was cold. I could not send them back into the Garden after their ejection by the Almighty—but I had to do something.”

“Which brings me to my next point…”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale could only grit his teeth and listen as Sandalphon went down a list of his apparent misdemeanors with excruciating detail and slowness. Being unable to keep peace in a small village teeming with anger over a corrupt political situation in 2200 BC, allowing said political situation to become corrupt, warning families of a blight in 13 AD, healing people who Heaven wanted dead in 403 AD, miracling people to full recovery during the Bubonic Plague, and, most recently—

“You’ve been observed to be indulging greatly in the sin of gluttony—”

“Now, just one minute,” Aziraphale interrupted, beginning to feel panicked. 

Sandalphon’s smile turned sour. “Angels can’t sin. This goes without saying. However, you’ve clearly proven yourself to be _ something else _ever since that little stunt with the Hellfire. We don’t know what you are. Obviously not Fallen, but you’re not Unfallen, either. Gluttony is a sin no matter what you are. It’s only appropriate we treat it as such.”

Aziraphale froze. Beside him, Crowley had also gone still. Crowley had recounted exactly what had happened to him while he was in Heaven, including Uriel’s disgusted comment of, “What is he?” Evidently, it had not gone unnoticed. Admittedly, it was a rather logical question to ask. But Aziraphale couldn’t answer, “I don’t know either,” and he couldn’t explain what he and Crowley had done to escape extinction. That would only tell Heaven they could try again, and get the results they wanted this time. He swallowed and said nothing at all.

“So,” drawled Sandalphon, “the sin of gluttony. Gabriel noticed you partaking in some Earthly food while he was here. You explained it was for your human disguise. However, you’ve been recorded sullying your heavenly body with gross matter for centuries now. You don’t need to eat. Therefore, anything you consume can be considered excessive and unnecessarily.”

“That’s bollocks,” Crowley cut in. Both angels turned to him, Sandalphon in annoyance, Aziraphale in surprise.

“What?” said Sandalphon.

“That’s wrong,” Crowley said impatiently. “I’m the demon here, I should know what sin is. Gluttony’s supposed to be, y’know, an excess of food or wealth or whatever withheld from the needy. Sure, he eats a lot for an angel”—Crowley pulled his face into a ‘well, what can I say?’ frown—“ans he eats every day like most humans do. But he’s never sat around and ate big ol’ honeyed hams and wine all day while telling the poor people to piss off. I would know; I’ve been, erm, adversary-ing him for six thousand years.”

_ Thank you, _cried Aziraphale internally, but Sandalphon was not impressed.

“Then what of these books?” he said at once. “Surely you don’t think we haven’t noticed the way he hoards these things. They are a symbol of status he refuses to part with, even for the innocent human pursuit of knowledge.”

“That’s different! Humans don’t need books the same way they need food.”

“Fine,” Sandalphon said with great reluctance. “The food is excluded. Then do tell me, demon; what is the reasoning for his reluctancy?” 

Sandalphon turned to Aziraphale, who had gone quite pale.

“Their contents would be wasted on them,” he said. “It would be a tragedy, really.” He wanted to say collectors only bought them for the name, but he knew that wasn’t true; most collectors were just like him, in reality. The only difference is that Aziraphale has been there, living the events that inspired the legendary books of their times. There was no experience like it. Any modern day collectors were simply grasping for a way to experience a past they never could live. And for as long as a story is passed around humanity, it is eventually lost in the mess. As long as they were with Aziraphale, they were safe.

Sandalphon raised an eyebrow. His bald head was shining in the lamplight. “You wouldn’t even spare that moment of joy for a human? They don’t have forever to indulge themselves.” Sandalphon took Aziraphale’s guilty press of his lips as a victory. His eyes shone triumphantly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Principality?”

Aziraphale blinked once and let all pretenses of politeness slide off of his face. “Nothing you would sincerely listen to.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whirled on him, gripping Aziraphale’s forearm in one hand and gesturing furiously with the other. “Wha’—You can’t just _ go _with him!” he snapped. “There’s—You haven’t hardly got to make a case for yourself!”

Aziraphale forced a weak smile for Crowley. He patted his bony hand gently. “It’s looking like I’m having little choice in the matter, my dear.”

“Hell, even Hell at least has a jury!”

“Yes, well… this is Heaven after all.” Aziraphale leveled an icy glare at Sandalphon who shifted uncomfortably. “They can do no wrong. Can they.”

“No,” Sandalphon said airily, sounding severely less confident. His mouth opened to say something else, only it opened, and then nothing at all came out. In fact, it stayed perfectly still, as did the rest of the room; the dust motes froze mid-flight, the swaying of Sandalphon’s trench-coat was caught in a dramatic turn—

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale, they can’t take you again!” Crowley had a snarl on his face as he angrily waved his hands in the air. “They brought a demon last time for the Hellfire, they’ll bring another to—to torture you, or something! You won’t last a second! Or they’ll find you over to Hell itself—!” 

“I’m tougher than you think,” Aziraphale assured him gently.

Crowley’s face crumpled. “I want to believe you, angel, I do. But this is Heaven’s punishments we’re talking about.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the fear in Crowley’s voice. He took Crowley’s cold hand and folded it tightly in his own two hands, holding it against his chest. “I understand your concern, my dear. But I’ll be alright. They’re operating out of fear, at the moment, I’m sure.”

Crowley furiously shook his head and wrapped his other hand around Aziraphale’s, gripping it as though he would vanish right then and there. Which, Aziraphale thought grimly, he very well might be. “It doesn’t _ matter _ what they’re operating out of!They want to get rid of you—”

“That may be so. But I think that Heaven is being a tad ambitious,” Aziraphale said primly. 

Crowley stared at him. Then he took off his sunglasses to really drive in the disbelief shining in his—entirely yellow, Aziraphale noted guiltily—eyes. “Aziraphale, what are you saying?”

“There is no such thing as luck,” he said delicately. It was not a coincidence I found a scrap of prophecy that happened to be exactly what we needed to live another day.”

Crowley’s pupils narrowed to thin lines. “I, you, wh—gh? Can you even hear yourself right now? You think—? Come on, after all of this, you really think _ She— _?”

The room had slowly begun to move again. Crowley’s miracle was wearing off. 

“How can you be so sure?” he finally asked.

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale said lowly. “I honestly cannot say I know what they will do. Your guesses are as good as mine. But I know Heaven, and I am not stupid. They don’t believe the failure of the Great Plan was a part of the Ineffable Plan. They’re searching for someone to blame, and, well, I’m a prime candidate.”

“Then they should take me too!” Crowley said indignantly. “I’d rather be trapped in Heaven with you than be on an Earth without you.” Aziraphale’s cheeks grew faintly warm at the intensity and genuinity of that statement, but he had to focus right now. He shoved the tidal wave of adoration towards Crowley as hard as he could and hoped he would feel it.

The sway of Sandalphon’s coat has reached its apex and was now falling the other way.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said honestly. “Heaven does not care for Earth as much as they do about the War. But they do care about what will happen to Earth if Hell is given free-range. They won’t leave you alone. If—when—they take me, they’ll send another angel in my place.”

Crowley made a disgusted sound. 

“Heaven does not appreciate the wonderful stories and intricacies of this place; I believe it is why they were so eager for the end of the world. And if they do send another in my place, it is under the assumption they can use any stuffy old angel to replace me. That anyone can appreciate humanity as I do. Crowley—_ you need to prove them wrong. _”

Crowley was always a particularly cunning demon. His distressed face went through a complicated series of emotions before ending on a positively, if slightly wobbly, serpentine grin. “And how should I do that, angel?” he purred.

The completely random thought of kissing Crowley dramatically before the miracle ended flirted intensely with Aziraphale. Startled, Aziraphale found himself leaning in to growl, “Give them hell, darling,” and then the miracle’s lifespan was up.

Sandalphon looked incredibly displeased.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he said snidely.

“I delayed the ineffable,” Aziraphale corrected. Sandalphon narrowed his eyes. “Well? Go on, then. List my charges.”

Sandalphon tapped his foot on the ground and the pages went flying back into his outstretched fingers. “It is with these words that I charge thee, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the First Order of the Lowest Hierarchy, Guardian of the Eastern Gate…”

Aziraphale stopped paying attention as the list of his crimes (_ crimes, _ he thought with a mental eyeroll, this was ridiculous) was read. He nudged Crowley, and hoped the brief contact was enough to convey, _ I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay, I promise I’ll come back. I won’t leave you behind. _

“I still hate this,” murmured Crowley, low enough to go unnoticed by Sandalphon.

Aziraphale gnawed his cheek—a nervous habit gained after reading the phrase from a book and trying to figure out what it meant. “It is not ideal,” he said back just as quietly. He smiled tightly when Sandalphon glanced at him. “But I believe it won’t be long,” he continued. “I’ll be back before you know it. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” 

“...two thousand, seven hundred, and thirty three accounts of gluttony…”

“Yeesh. You’d get a commendation from Hell for that one.”

“Hush, you.”

Finally, after what felt like a day's worth of monotonous droning, Sandalphon lowered the papers. “Given this evidence, Heaven no longer sees you fit to be the angelic representative of Earth. You will be recalled to Heaven until given further notice, and during this time, Heaven will proceed with any necessary actions. Do you have any questions?”

Aziraphale made a show of looking cowed. “May I say goodbye?”

“To who? The demon?”

“Humans question things when a regularity in their life vanishes without imaginable reason.”

Sandalphon nodded after a very obvious hesitation. “You have one hour.”

And he vanished in a great crackle of lightning. Aziraphale slouched, unaware of how tightly he’d been holding himself up. Crowley squeezed his tense shoulder.

“I should get going,” said Aziraphale. “Clock’s ticking. Will you mind the bookshop for me while I’m gone?”

“‘Course.”

“If anyone asks, I’m on a business trip.” Crowley nodded, a pinched expression crossing his face. “What is it, Crowley?”

He didn’t answer for a pronounced moment. “Just—Don’t do anything stupid, angel.”

“I’ll miss you too, my dear.”

An hour later, after he had exhausted himself teleporting around London hastily explaining his absence to the restaurants he frequented, his manicurist, the bakeries, making phone calls, and leaving voicemails for would-be buyers of his books, Aziraphale was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i want to detail an entire sequence surrounding the basic law system? did i? no. heaven’s justice system is dumb  
also i thought it was interesting how “crowley” got a trial and aziraphale got to be, in the word’s of Gabriel, “made into an example”. there were probably much deeper reasons than what I got into here but like, oh well. also that’s why this probably has a lot of holes in the logic used. again: oh well.
> 
> you can can come talk to me on tumblr!


	3. Step 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uriel makes an example out of Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i went on a trip last evening and couldn’t write/edit without feeling extremely carsick. and then my Internet was out this morning. yay! also, this got way darker than i was planning on doing, but i don’t think any other chapter will be like this. cw for descriptions of bodily horror!

Aziraphale had forgotten how absolutely clinical Heaven was.

The air had a sterile tastelessness to it that laid heavy on his tongue. Everything was an inoffensive gray, white, or beige, or possibly a daring khaki. Every building was made of polished and unblemished marble and cut perfectly into either cubes or a strange design that, in the human world, would be called ‘modern art’ and then be scoffed at for being labeled as such. There were no decorations to be found. Fountains of holy water and nature were the only exceptions and both were native only to the living quarters of the good human souls that had made it up here. The angelic HQ had no need for such lavacious things. 

Crowley was right about the smell of bleach. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it before, but it was everywhere, soaking into the cold, cold stone and purging any disease from its purity. It stung his nose and reminded him of the ghastly stories of hospitals that took patients in with no intention of allowing them to leave again. It made him yearn for the metallic smell of rain, the belching fumes of gasoline, the rich, the faintly sweet smell of his leather-bound books, oh his books. He missed them dearly. He missed Earth dearly. And he had only been here for a couple of minutes.

Aziraphale was beginning to feel that he had made a mistake turning himself in so easily. 

He shifted his wrists beneath his tightly bound cuffs. Upon Aziraphale’s arrival, Uriel had bound them and his wings as well so that if he tried to go back down to Earth, he would fall and reach terminal velocity before becoming angelic paste on the pavement. He didn’t use his wings to literally _ fly _ from Earth to Heaven or vice versa, but he required their Holy presence to properly go to and from the two places. That being said, he had an extremely painful cramp that was seizing up his entire left side, and he very much doubted he could convince Uriel to loosen the cuffs on his wings so that he may stretch them out.

Speaking of Uriel. That was a rather wicked looking dagger they had.

“What is it?” Their face was a perfectly cut mask of cool indifference, as per usual. But something about it looked pleased at Aziraphale’s discomfort.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly. He glanced away, warily watching the dagger out of the corner of his eye. It was made of some pulsating purple-black material that hissed and bubbled and dripped with something that clearly disagreed with being in such a holy space. He could feel its tarlike aura molding itself onto his, trying to capture as much as it could before drowning it. It made him feel a bit nauseous. It was a mystery how Uriel could hold it at all, even with the glove.

Aziraphale tensed and untensed his arms, trying to relieve some of the pain. “Erm,” he said awkwardly. “That’s a fascinating... knife you’ve got there. Is it new?”

Uriel hardly spared him a glance. “It was specially commissioned from the Hell Forge just for you.”

“I-I see.” Aziraphale swallowed and inched further away from the blade. It appeared Crowley had been correct. Again. Aziraphale should really start to heed his cautiousness more often. You’d think he’d be a little less uppity about it, especially after six thousand years. He bit his lip and hoped Crowley was doing alright without him. 

He tried to distract himself by flicking his eyes to a familiar cityscape. He took in skyscrapers and apartment complexes gleaming in the too-bright sunshine. They stretched their bony structures and scraped an ivory intrusion against the pure blue sky, punctuated by painting-like clouds. Rain was a rarity, yet a rainbow arched gracefully above it all, its colors bold and bright in a way they never would be on Earth. This felt incredibly ironic to Aziraphale. The rainbow had been made for humans after the Almighty had demolished the entire population of Mesopotamia and then some. It was a gift, a promise, to never let it happen again. Shouldn’t that have been proof enough that the whole Written Plan about the Apocalypse was a load of old tosh? Humanity was not meant to come to an _ End. _ And here was _ Heaven _ using Her promise as a minute detail to a perfect picture.

Aziraphale felt a venomous critter of disgust creep through him. He smiled thinly. “Lucky me.”

“Yes. Lucky you.”

He decided Heaven’s imitation of Earth’s atmosphere was not for him. He focused instead on the floating Globe lazily spinning in the middle of the floor. It felt like yesterday that he was being berated by the Quartermaster as he dipped his finger into the little brown-green patch that was England. He desperately wanted to relive that moment right now. In fact, his finger actually twitched in a desperate attempt to flee, despite being fully aware of what would happen if he did.

He wondered what was going to happen if he didn’t. They’d been standing here for a good ten minutes now and had not moved. “Pardon me, but could you perhaps enlighten me of my fate?” he said, allowing a bit of a plea to slip into his voice. “I am your prisoner. I’d like to think I have a right to know.”

“You’d be wrong.”

Well then. So much for that. Aziraphale pressed his lips together and nodded. Questions still bounced uselessly around his head like the balls inside of a bingo wheel. He picked whichever one popped out first. “What is it that we’re waiting for?”

Uriel finally looked at him, but he almost wished they hadn’t. “Your cell is being prepared. You need to stop asking questions.”

_ Heaven has a prison? _ thought Aziraphale. What was the point of that? Why would anyone need to be punished if they, with himself and his Fallen brethren as the exceptions, could do no wrong? Perhaps humans could still be a bit rowdy. 

Or maybe they merely made one just for him. They made a dagger just for him. A room didn’t feel like that large of a stretch. 

Uriel’s chin came up slightly as though they were listening to something. Aziraphale turned his head about, but didn’t see anyone, until he noticed the earpiece place snugly on Uriel’s head. They were silent for a few more seconds. Then they brought a finger to their ear and said, “We’re on our way.” Then, to Aziraphale, “Follow me.”

“Wh—I demand you tell me where we’re going first!”

Uriel barked out a wrathfully amused laugh. “You’re in no position to be making demands. Come.”

They began to walk away. Aziraphale followed them after a hesitant moment.

Together they went down stairwell after stairwell, through hallway after hallway. Every place was strangely devoid of life. Aziraphale peered into offices as they passed by—not a single soul. No one at the desks, no one bustling back and forth with a clipboard, not even a single friendly conversation. The only sounds were the colliding echoes of their footsteps: Uriel’s, firm thuds from the heel of their boots, Aziraphale’s gentler shuffles from his loafers. Apprehension and curiosity began to struggle beneath his skin, straining for answers. He swallowed them down and tred on.

They finally made it to the first floor after what was paradoxically a short eternity and thirty seconds. Uriel went straight for the sliding doors without a single glance back. Either they were confident Aziraphale would not make a harebrained escape attempt, or—no, Uriel was quick as a whip, and could be as dangerous as one, too. Especially with that dagger. Aziraphale wouldn’t be going anywhere. He trudged after Uriel, trying to keep his gaze from drooping to the ground for too long. They went through the sliding doors and Aziraphale—

Aziraphale… stopped.

Because before them, stretching for miles and miles and miles, were millions of angels. The ground and sky were swallowed up by grey suits, white dressed, five thousand all-seeing eyes staring in directions that could never be named. A cacophonous mix of true forms melding around corporeal forms lit up space in impossible colors and shapes. Heat and cold lived as one, light and dark, unified and separate. All types of heavenly creatures from raging seraphim whose being swelled and engulfed everything in a five hundred meter radius to a ninth rank angel who was dwarfed in comparison and everything in-between was there. 

And every single one was staring at Aziraphale. 

Stupefied, he could only manage, “So that’s where everyone went.”

The front of the crowd swelled towards him at his words, taking him in, picking him apart, like a greedy ocean tide lapping at the soles of his feet.

“That’s the traitor?” murmured a Throne. “He doesn’t look it.”

A buzz of agreement rose and fell. Some were even dubiously daring to dart their gaze back and forth between him and Uriel. He could feel it too—the strange mix of righteous anger and unyielding love, yet doubt was melting holes into that steely resolve. Aziraphale coaxed a weak smile to his face. Perhaps—perhaps Heaven had some hope.

“Shut it,” snapped Uriel. Evidently, they were not pleased with the reaction. “Don’t you feel it? This is who sabotaged the Great Plan. This is who turned God’s Will into something of his own creation.”

A few Powers shared a glance. “Do you… want an answer?” said one, very carefully avoiding the word “honesty.”

A nearby Cherub bristled, its interlocking wheels made up of nonexistent planes of existence spinning faster in agitation. _ This is who renounced God’s will, _ it howled, their celestial voice resonating from every atom and screaming into every angel’s head, _ this is who twisted the Great Plan and put Her plans to ruin! This is he who turns his back on the Almighty! _

And just like that, the crowd shrank away from Aziraphale, hissing like water on a burning skillet. Uriel smirked and strode into the crowd. It slowly parted around Uriel at first, but as Aziraphale reluctantly went to follow, it shot away as if he were poison. Which, if Heavenly propaganda was up to its old standards, he may as well be.

“There is hope for you yet!” shouted a fellow Principality as he passed. “Renounce, and God’s Love will shine on you once again!”

Aziraphale cringed but did not allow his head to bow in shame. He resolutely kept his eyes up. They couldn’t possibly know what had really happened on Earth. They couldn’t possibly really know _ Earth. _ Humanity. He could forgive them.

“Look upon the grayness to his being? He has been tempted to Sin by that demon! Oh, for shame, for shame!”

They didn’t know what a wonderful creature Crowley was. He could forgive them.

“Save him, save him!”

They didn’t know.

“O Lord, bestow upon your lost child the sight to see what is good and just once again…”

He could forgive them.

Aziraphale walked on, and on, and on, walked on through the jeers, walked on through the judging glares, walked on through the tears. The anger was overwhelming him, but he couldn’t tell if it was his own, or simply what he was absorbing from twenty million angels. The tide returned and snared his ankles. It felt like drowning in a boiling sea. Foaming waves dragged his struggling body away from the safety of the shore, tossing him out to churning open water and plunging him deep, deep down into seething depths. Reaching for air wasn’t possible—it was burning too. It forced its way into his mouth and began to broil his insides, setting his very heart aflame. His skin blistered and popped, liquified salt poured into his wounds before he could heal again, taking him apart one quark at a time, until—

“All I have done!” roared Aziraphale, his cuffs humming as they strained to keep his wings from flaring out. The tears on his face steamed up as soon as they touched his flesh. “All I have done is _ love _ humanity just as She commanded me!”

Uriel spun around, an ugly rage marring their face. “You went against Her Written Plan!” they bellowed back, dagger jabbing closer to him with each word. “Did She not command that, too?”

“It never was Her Ineffable Plan!”

A collective gasp went up. Heaving, Aziraphale spat, “Or did _ Gabriel _ fail to mention that, too?”

The jury of Heaven fell completely silent. Uriel worked their mouth. Aziraphale closed his eyes and desperately tried to control the solar flares leaping from his body. When he reopened his eyes, it was to the sound of Uriel stalking forward, taking Aziraphale by the front of his shirt, and hissing, “We’re going.”

And then they were in a new room. The audience had vanished but their voices echoed again and again. Aziraphale wrenched himself away from Uriel and stumbled back. In the same instant, Uriel disappeared again, leaving him alone.

Like most of Heaven, the room was composed of white. The only color was the golden sigils engraved into the marble walls and himself. He noted with some hysterical despair that the room had nothing in it to fill the space—no beds, no tables, no windows, not even a chair. And, like most of Heaven, it was very cold.

There were no such things as shadows here, no creases in the corners to indicate there even was a corner. He could not tell when one wall ended until another one began. It all stretched into an everlasting white expanse wherever the golden sigils were not present. He sighed; the sound barely made it off his lips before it fell dead. The gazes of the sigils bore down on him, waiting to see what he would do. He closed his eyes against them; they felt too much like what amalgamation waited for him outside.

Quietly, Aziraphale knew this would not last. He remembered the first few angelic beings who doubted his crime. There must be more beyond them. The Cherub had gotten everyone riled up, Aziraphale included. That was simply how Cherubs were. He had seen Uriel’s face when they did not immediately denounce him; clearly, something was incorrect about how they thought Heaven really was. He swiped away another tear and struggled to steady himself with one, two, three shaking breaths. Under better circumstances, perhaps they would have listened. 

There was hope yet. He was not alone. He firmly held on to that thought as he knelt down and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the most fun/lighthearted chapter but i promise the next one can make up for it. i’m just letting heaven feel good about themselves. :^)


	4. Step 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Plan begins to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, sorry for that delay! a friend stayed with me for a few days and i couldn't disappear for hours to write. unfortunately, this may begin to be a regular pattern as school is starting soon and there is work i have yet to do. i'll try my best to keep up, but there are no guarantees.
> 
> with that, i hope you enjoy this chapter!

Aziraphale’s cell was empty aside from him for what felt like days. Months, maybe, or just an hour. However much time had passed; all he could think about through it all was Earth. He’d told Crowley—oh, how he missed his one true friend!—to give them Hell, but he was not-so-secretly hoping he wasn’t making _too _large of a mess of the place. There was only one London, after all. Or perhaps, without Aziraphale to anchor him to one spot, Crowley was roaming about the Earth, causing as much chaos as he desired. If this was the case, then Aziraphale rectified the previous statement to now say, “There was only one Earth, after all.”

He’d taken to pacing around the perimeter to take his mind off of his worries. Occasionally, bouts of frustration and anger, at Uriel, at himself, at all of Heaven, rendered him motionless and stiff with fury and he had to remind himself, Crowley was waiting for him. He had promised to come back; therefore, he would come back. 

_Easy, angel,_ he’d probably say, and a spike of loneliness drove through Aziraphale’s gut, and off he would go worrying all over again, and off he would go pacing all over again.

This cycle went on for a long, long time.

Eventually, Aziraphale had memorized the number of paces it took to circle the room, had recited multiple of his favorite books to himself to stave off his restlessness, even tried his hand at sleeping, which only brought him shadowy, vague dreams of voices calling out to him behind endless curtains, and so he did not attempt it a second time. He tried not to think too much about Earth lest he be consumed by nostalgia and a bone-deep yearning for home.

Finally, he stopped to stare down at his feet. No one was coming for him. And though he was confident he would escape, he did not know when exactly that would be. He looked to the sigils on the walls. He had little personal use for them aside from the communication portal in his shop. Most of what he remembered about them was from the Early Days. No human book on Earth had the correct directions to create a real, working sigil, so he had no way to brush up on something he’d learned eight thousand years ago.

But that was no real concern. Aziraphale, if a somewhat lousy angel, was still devastatingly intelligent. He deemed no part of his life unnecessary and did not discard a single minute. He stored away every single day in a box-shaped memory and placed them in what was essentially a cubbyhole in his mind, waiting to be taken down and reopened again. All that was left was a relatively simple task of walking himself all the way down to the beginning.

He did that, and sure enough, he found the times he had had that knowledge sewn into his being. And then it was clear the sigils had a lot of threatening decorative flair to them, but otherwise were basic holding and repression sigils designed to prevent him from using his powers. One was made to reinforce the walls in case he—what, punched his way out? Either way, their meanings were not shocking in any capacity, but having a basic understanding made the sigils a whole lot less threatening. It was a bit like seeing an unnerving shape in the dark that is vaguely humanoid, but when one gathered the courage to shine a light on it, it ended up being a tree stump or an oddly shaped rock.

Aziraphale had just relaxed when his ears popped rather painfully.

“How’s this place been treating you?”

Aziraphale felt like a switch had been flipped. One moment a current of cautious optimism buoyed him, the next he was desperately struggling to keep himself from screaming.

“Gabriel,” he said coldly, refusing to turn around, “to what do I owe the honor?”

He heard Gabriel grin. “What do you think?” Footsteps came closer to him, dulled and weakened by the nature of the room. “I made it myself.”

Aziraphale tightened his jaw and finally turned to meet Gabriel’s falsely sunny smile. “What do you want, Gabriel. You’re not here for pleasantries.”

The smile slid right off of Gabriel’s face. In its place, an unfriendly scowl soured his handsome visage. “You need to do us a favor,” he said, clipped.

“Do I now?” Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs. “I do apologize, but you caught me at a bad time. I’m quite busy at the moment.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m reading, you see.”

“What?”

“These sigils—they’re quite well done, is all,” Aziraphale replied chipperly. “I doubt you have a scrap of artistic prowess, so pass on my appreciation to dear Michael, but they’re fascinating to look at. Really.”

Gabriel’s violet eyes darkened to a nasty bruise-purple. “Enough with the chit chat. Either you can listen to me, or you can be left here to die.” He spread his hands. “It’s an obvious choice to me, but”—he sucked in a breath his teeth—“between you and me, you make a lot of stupid decisions.”

The dangerously powerful temptation to tell Gabriel to stuff it up his arse was mighty, but through the sort of class maintained through diligence forged in himself over the centuries, Aziraphale resisted. Crowley would be disappointed. Perhaps another time.

He warily side-eyed Gabriel, then carefully asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Advice.”

Aziraphale had opened his mouth furiously, and now it snapped shut with a clack of his teeth. “Come again?”

“The new agents we have been sending to Earth in your place are, hm. _Struggling_,” he said tersely, as though each word physically pained him to say. “The Council would appreciate some insight.”

Inwardly, Aziraphale sighed in relief. At least his foresight had been correct up to this point. Another angel had indeed been sent down to replace him. Multiple angels, if he’d heard correctly.

“If you don’t mind me ask—what sort of struggles are you encountering?”

“Earth has not been—how should I say this—welcoming.”

“I understand that. What exactly is happening that has forced you to come to me?”

“It’s just not working out.”

Good Lord. Aziraphale closed his eyes for a few seconds, inhaled deeply, and then reopened them.

“I’m afraid I’m not following.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows conspiratively. “Perhaps you could show me?”

Aziraphale had precisely zero hope of that working. However, Gabriel appeared to be at his (very short) wit’s end and sharply jerked his wrist. Aziraphale felt a swooping sensation one would feel when driving down a sharp downgrade in the road, only throughout his whole body. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself and straighten out his coat; his wrists had not yet been freed from their cuffs. When he finished, he looked up.

Before him were the three other Archangels, Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon, and one angel Aziraphale did not recognize. They were all standing in front of the massive globe of the Earth, muttering furtively. The tension weighing down the air was almost palpable. 

Michael caught sight of him, and briskly made her way towards him. “Why is this happening,” she demanded. Aziraphale blinked impassively.

“Gabriel did not inform me of details,” he said honestly. “What appears to be the problem?”

He studied the other angel, who was studiously not looking at him. They’d probably been in the crowd that day, and it showed: their posture was impossibly stiff, as though someone had fused his spine with a metal pole, and their breast was puffed out like it was the bow of a foolhardy ship ready to crash its way through any storm-tossed sea, yet their flinty gray eyes practically frothed with apprehension.

“Let us play a small game,” said Sandalphon. His head was gleaming with sweat, which worried Aziraphale because if an Archangel was sweating when they typically do not even have sweat glands, something was tremendously wrong. “Principality Aziraphale, I would like you to guess how many angels we have sent down to Earth since you were sentenced to imprisonment.”

Aziraphale hesitated. “That depends. How long was I imprisoned?”

They told him.

“A _year?_” Aziraphale felt his heart drop right down to his shoes. But that—He’d meant to come back much sooner! How could he have spent a _year _pacing around in that jail cell! 

“One Earth year,” confirmed Sandalphon. “Now. Do you have a guess?”

Aziraphale tried to run some numbers through his scrambled mind. 

Obviously, they’d picked out one angel already. He could only assume something had happened to that one, but when exactly, he could only speculate. He recalled one other time when another angel who was not, surprisingly, any of the Archangels, had come to deliver a message to him. They had been crushed flat by a horse carriage. If _that _was the sort of “unwelcome” receival Gabriel mentioned—no, that time must have been a fluke—

“Erm? I-I’m not sure. Forty? Thirty. It must be less, yes? No?” Aziraphale caught Sandalphon’s positively murderous expression. “Oh, dear.”

“One hundred and forty-five,” he said flatly. “One hundred and forty-five angels in the past year either were discorporated or turned in their resignation within two weeks. The singular outlier made it two months before provoking the demon Crowley and ultimately discorporated after a short skirmish.”

Aziraphale frowned. That didn’t sound right, either. Although Crowley boasted of blending his plants in his garbage disposal when the misbehaved to invoke fear, Crowley also happened to be an extraordinarily shoddy liar when it came to Aziraphale. Crowley did not kill unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t want the children to die at the Ark, and he didn’t want to kill the Antichrist. If one were to ask, ‘What about the holy water? And the Nazi’s?’ that whole debacle with Ligur and the holy water had left Crowley shaken and extremely skittish around clear liquids for months. And the Nazis were Nazis. That should be explanation enough.

“May I ask what happened?” Aziraphale asked doubtfully. 

Sandalphon sighed and miracled a clipboard overstuffed with papers into existence. With another tedious sigh, he flicked back to about halfway through the stack and read, “The angel Asteroth was deployed to London on the twelfth of August, 2018. One month and eight days into her deployment, she attempted to enter a bookshop—_your_ bookshop,” he amended, sneering, “where the demon Crowley was found to be lying in wait. She drew her holy blade to dispose of him, but, according to her, as she was doing so, it struck an old bookshelf and, quote, ‘seriously messed up the books,’ end quote. The demon appeared upset and told her, ‘He’s going to eviscerate you for that. Best if I do it,’ before dropping a modified paperweight on her head and breaking her neck.”

Aziraphale, who had a brilliant surge of fondness for Crowley rush through him like a tidal wave—had he been staying at the bookshop all this time?—coughed to avoid a sharp burst of laughter.

“That is… unfortunate,” he said as sincerely as he could. And absolutely bloody _hysterical. _Not that Aziraphale found the discorporation of any angel funny, but for all the fuss Heaven made and torment they put him through by making him the unholy beacon of Heaven, they had no clue how to properly go about Earth (and Crowley) without the _one _angel who knew better. It was like building a railroad that ended directly off a cliff.

“Indeed,” Michael said gravely. “Our corporeal form department has not seen this much work since the Heavenly War.”

The new angel now appeared to be regretting accepting whatever exactly it was that Michael told them.

Aziraphale regained control of himself. “So, erm… what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“We want you to oversee our performances and tell us exactly what we are doing wrong,” said Gabriel. “There’s absolutely no reason this should be happening.”

“I see.”

“Observe,” said Sandalphon, gesturing to where Uriel and Michael were speaking to the new angel.

“You’ve made the necessary preparations, Arael?” Uriel was saying.

“Yes,” firmly replied the angel. “I’ve insured my etiquette is inoffensive, my human body as neutral as possible, and I read the brochure on London’s Do’s and Don’ts.” They furrowed their brow. “It was… interesting.”

“Excellent,” said Michael. “I’m sure your arrival will be… better received.”

Aziraphale bit back a scathing exclamation. If their Earth 101 course was one long, convoluted lesson that could be summarized as “be nice”, it was no wonder why everything was going so poorly!

“Is that all?” he asked against his better judgment. “Are those the ‘preparations’ you’ve given to every single one of those angels?”

Uriel and Michael turned to him. Michael raised her eyebrows. “Is it incorrect?” she said. 

He gestured distraughtly the best he could with the way his wrists are bound together. “Humans are much more than just saying nice things to them! They are complicated creatures—”

“It won’t present any issues,” said Arael such overblown confidence, Aziraphale could not stop the roll of his eyes. “I will guide them back to the right path if they choose to display ignorance and hate.”

“No! They don’t _like _that either!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You won’t find a single Londoner who’ll take a minute out of his day to listen for someone to lecture—”

“I’m the one being dispatched,” snapped Arael. “_You _were the one strayed too far from Her path. I know what I’m doing.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You are the one hundred and forty-sixth angel. Please enlighten me; what makes you think you’re so different from the other one hundred and forty-five?”

“You’re both being childish,” interrupted Michael. “We’re wasting time. Who knows what waste that demon lays while we stand around here and argue? We must get on with it.”

Gabriel placed an unfriendly hand on Arael’s padded shoulder. “Well? Off you go, then.”

“Of course.” Arael nodded stiffly, touched the globe, and was whisked away in a cloud of gray.

“And now we wait,” said Gabriel with a strained grin.

“For what—”

A bolt of lightning silenced him, and Arael reappeared on the ground in a bleeding heap.

“_T__hat_,” said Uriel.

“Erm,” said Aziraphale.

“Arael.” Michael somehow encapsulated the tone of motherly patience that was barely holding its ground in its losing battle against the fury of a thousand suns in that one word. “It has been exactly nine Earth seconds since your deployment to Earth.”

“It’s so much worse than we thought,” mumbled poor Arael, shivering. 

Aziraphale knelt down and helped their shaking heavenly form to their feet, murmuring, “Up you go, excellent, just like that…” The other Archangels did not move an inch, choosing instead to click their tongues and look disappointed.

“They’re everywhere,” continued Arael in a haunted tone. They listed dangerously, and Aziraphale hastily righted them while attempting to repress the bleeding. The Archangels shared a look betwixt themselves. “I can’t—I can’t do it. I was discorporated within ten steps.”

“Would you mind telling us what happened?” asked Gabriel with a very plasticky look of concern. “For future references, I’m sure you’d understand.”

“You can’t send another down there!” gasped Arael, and alright, maybe they were being a tad overdramatic. Discorporation was uncomfortable at best, and certainly not permanent. Arael merely had an unfortunate first-time.

“We must. Evil will not rest on its own unless Good is there to stop it,” said Michael. Aziraphale chose not to mention the time Crowley was asleep for a whole century.

Arael bled and swayed for a few more seconds before speaking. “Everywhere I looked, there were great metal beasts with two glowing eyes on the front.” They shuddered. “And they all had four black, round legs that don’t move like any of God’s creature’s should. They spun. They weren’t mentioned in the briefing I was given. I stepped off of the sidewalk, and one immediately charged me. It must have been a new breed of demon,” they concluded.

Ah. Aziraphale immediately understood what had happened and had to stifle a chuckle as the bewilderment growing between the Archangels sky-rocketed. He wasn’t quiet enough and was awarded a particularly nasty look from Michael.

“Poor thing,” she said, pulling Arael none too gently away from Aziraphale. She waved her fingers, and the swaying and stumbling stopped. Another wave and the wounds vanished, as well as the blood. Arael straightened themselves, dazed. Then their face turned glowed—literally—pink in humiliation.

“I—I need to file a report for a new body,” they stammered, rapidly backing away. “If, if you’ll excuse me, of course.”

“Before you go,” cut in Michael. “Tell us, what did this particular demon look like?”

“A 2016 Ford Fiesta,” said Arael, and they hurried away. 

The remaining angels stared at Arael’s retreating back until Uriel coughed awkwardly. “That was a new record for shortest visit to Earth.”

“What in Heaven is a ‘Ford Fiesta?’” asked Sandalphon. 

“I will pick a few more angels from our queue,” Michael said hurriedly, and she vanished in a flash.

Gabriel turned and caught Aziraphale’s shoulder in a vice grip. “That,” he said, squeezing painfully, “has been happening every. Single. Time. What are we doing wrong? _Tell us._”

“What do I know?” said Aziraphale pleasantly, ignoring the growing pressure. “Arael was correct, after all. I’m not fit for the job.”

Gabriel glowered at him, his eyes blazing with a fury that begged to be released and only reined in after Aziraphale was laid to rest. Aziraphale smiled amicably, then squeaked as a knife jabbed into his chin.

“You’re going to do it,” growled Uriel. “Or you’re _never _going to see your boyfriend again.”

“Ooh, very good Uriel!” said Gabriel, clapping his hands delightedly. “That was—very nice. Now then. Aziraphale.” He smiled thinly. “_You _will be delivering the briefings. Tell them everything they need to know before they go and get themselves killed again. If we don’t see results, we’ll have to intervene.”

Aziraphale tilted his chin up to spare some distance between his flesh and the tip of the blade. “And if I refuse? You don’t have anyone else like me.”

“You get to go back to your cell for the rest of time. We’ll figure the rest out eventually.”

Incredible. He was being offered quite the variety of choices, wasn’t he. “Fine. I suppose I am forced to accept. _Under the conditions_”—he caught Gabriel’s glare and hardened his own gaze—“that I am _not_ kept in that cell. I will not attempt to escape to Earth—”

“You can’t, anyway. You’re bound here by the First Laws.”

Ah. That somewhat dampened Aziraphale’s spirits, but at least it was information. He carefully stored it away and made a note to review those laws later. “I see. And the other condition is to have my cuffs removed. I can’t go anywhere anyhow, and they’re serving to be demeaning at this point.”

Uriel and Gabriel shared a dubious look, but it was Sandalphon who cut in. “We accept your current conditions. Is there anything else?”

Aziraphale kept fluttering bubbles of joy tamped down. He knew he could not push it any further, but it felt like a step in the right direction, a step closer to home; a step closer to Crowley.

“No,” he said primly. “That will be all.”

With a reluctant snap of their fingers, Uriel vanished the cuffs. A deep ache of relief spread down as Aziraphale’s spine as his wings were finally allowed to unwind after a year. He flapped them in their plane of existence, wincing as he felt the bones click and pop in complaint. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I accept your offer. I will try to assist to the best of my ability, but I must note that there are no guarantees.”

“Results,” Gabriel insisted. “Something _better _than nine seconds.”

“I believe I can manage that,” Aziraphale said lightly. “I cannot tell them everything about human cultures from the past six-thousand some years. Humans are complex and wonderfully diverse creatures, and you cannot expect the same things from every single one—”

“It’s not us you should be talking to.” Tremors began to rumble from Aziraphale’s shoes to up his legs. “It’s them.”

He turned just as Michael rounded the corner with at least fifty other angels in tow of all ages and ranks. Some angels who didn’t look a day over twenty walked with one massive, willowy seraph who was bringing up the rear, which Aziraphale could not help but be extremely confused about. They were all chattering excitedly, but upon seeing Aziraphale, they unanimously silenced themselves and stared blankly.

“Erm,” said Aziraphale. “Hello.”

A few of them murmured back, “Good day,” and one even managed a, “Hi.”

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at the unsure shuffling and side-eyes. “I suppose we’ll make this our first lesson, hm? Does that sound okay? Lovely. Most humans would appreciate a response, a ‘hi,’ ‘hello,’ ‘how do you do,’ even if you”—he bobbed his head once—“simply nod. Now. Let us try that again. Hello!”

All at once, fifty angels cried, “_Hello!_” so loudly, the glass window nearby developed a crack. It was shocked by this development, and, believing itself to be fatally wounded, fell apart.

Aziraphale blinked once, and then very quietly sighed, “Oh, dear.”

It looked like he had his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! see you next time :D


	5. Step 3.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale begins his attempts to teach fifty angels about Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW i procrastinated too much on summer stuff and then didn't have time to write! though i fear this delay may now be customary of this story. school has officially started back up again, so i won't have as much energy to get chapters out :,) enjoy!

Aziraphale’s Crash Course to Earth was off to a very rough start.

After Aziraphale had repaired the broken window, he found himself almost immediately surrounded by angels on all sides.

“Hello! Hello!” a few were repeating to the left, as though they had never heard the phrase before. Perhaps they never had. Heaven’s greeting customs were uncomfortably stiff and starched at times.

“Is that how they do it?” asked voices from the right.

Aziraphale went to assure them, when more voices above him called, “Did we do it right?”

And from below him, “What else do they say?”

And pushing him backwards with their grandiose of their true forms, “Is that all?”

And catching him with flesh hands, “Can we go to Earth now?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and with a surge of energy, pushed every angel away from him as he cried, “ _ Enough! _ ”

The angels fell silent. Panting slightly, Aziraphale dusted himself off and shook his sleeves out. “Lesson number two,” he said lightly. “There are many types of humans, and human cultures, and some will not appreciate an invasion of their personal space. The area they determine to be their personal space varies. Where you all will be going, that behavior will not be socially acceptable.”

The angels murmured their apologies and backed off a largely unnecessary fifteen feet, so now Aziraphale was placed in the center of an almost perfect, empty dome. And then questions started up once again.

“Is this far enough away?”

“Shall we move back more?”

“Is this  _ too  _ far away?”

“I thought humans liked physical contact!”

“Do we have to shout like this?”

“No!” Aziraphale loudly called out to that last one. “In fact, most humans”—he lowered his voice to a regular speaking volume—“speak like this. It can quieter, it can be louder, but they typically don’t shout at each other in regular conversation.”

A collective, “ _ Ohhh _ ,” went up.

“There are many more exceptions,” continued Aziraphale, “but I hardly think here is the place to discuss them.”

He motioned for the angels to follow him, and then picked a direction to start walking. Perhaps to the angels, he was a Principality with a Plan, and he had a fully formed agenda he intended to carry out once they arrived at his chosen destination, the mysterious nature of which enthralled them to trail behind him without question. In reality, Aziraphale had not at all intended to even suggest changing locations, and was now wildly spitballing ideas as he wandered aimlessly about, taking turns at random hoping he would find an empty room large enough to house them all. 

Luckily, he chanced upon a sparsely used lecture hall and made a split second decision to march right on in. Hopefully he wouldn’t get kicked out in the middle of whatever his near-future self would be doing. The angels shuffled in after him and took their seats, all the while watching Aziraphale as he stepped in. 

_ Right _ , thought Aziraphale.  _ Here we go. _

He uncomfortably made his way to the front of the hall, feeling smaller and smaller with every step he took. When he finally reached a podium and turned around, he murmured a near inaudible, “ _ Oh dear. _ ”

Fifty-four (he had counted them as they had come in) angels of Heaven loomed over him. Some faces smiling, most not, all expectant. It felt like the trial he never had. He was aware that now, more than ever, every move, every word would be dissected with the utmost severe analysis. Mistakes would be costly, and Aziraphale could not afford much.

“Humans,” he began, picking up from where Gabriel had cut him off, “are complex and diverse creatures. Why they may shout is a minuscule facet of their character, though I can try to answer questions about that.” He waited one second, decided he would really rather not get into it, and bulldozed on. “They have made great progress since Adam and Eve—”

An angry drone rose up. “They are able to feel pain now!” shouted one angel in the nosebleeds. “They could have had a simple life of peace, and now they have committed some of the most evil sins even Hell has ever seen! How, Principality, is that progress?”

“It is a travesty,” Aziraphale agreed quickly, “that the serpent convinced Adam and Eve to turn their backs on God. Knowledge was truly a dangerous thing, and they indeed paid a heavy price. I cannot dispute this. What is important to note is that the consumption of the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil did indeed punish humanity. But without it, how could humanity have learned of all the Good things God put on Her planet? Was it better to live in bliss and not feel as much of God’s love as possible? Inside walls where one could never learn what Good comes from wrong?”

The seraph abruptly stood, their huge form bowing to avoid the ceiling.  _ Her presence is not quantifiable,  _ they said, outraged.  _ There is no ‘less’ amount of love in the Garden as there is anywhere else! _

“No,” said Aziraphale amicably, “but what was outside the Garden? I can tell you—it was not nothing. There animals not allowed in the Garden, great deserts that never had a shrub grace it before. These are not nothing. There is God’s love there, too.”

_ What you speak is blasphemy. Humanity was never meant to Know Good and Evil as She does. _

“Of course not. They are not Her, and they never will be. But there is a difference between gaining the knowledge to understand and become aware of it, and the knowledge to try and change the way She created things.”

These back-and-forths went on, and on, and on, spiraling so far away from the actual dangers (like traffic laws and the rogue 2016 Ford Fiestas) Aziraphale wanted to warn them about that he almost did not know not to rein it back in. That was not to say these discussions, we shall call them for the sake of politeness, were unhelpful.

As he spoke and answered questions, Aziraphale began to uncover some truths about the angels he never had been privy to with his time on Earth. The vast majority of the fifty-four angels present had accepted a very old-fashioned impression of humans as the literal gospel truth. When prompted, Aziraphale learned that they thought all of humanity consisted of barbaric, violent creatures with few to no redeemable qualities. That while yes, some were good, most were already so infected with Evil, there was nothing left to do but purge all of them and their creations. As far as the angels were concerned, there would be nothing to mourn if humans were all destroyed during the War That Was Naught. Which, if one had to be reminded, was meant to be an epic battle in which Good triumphed over Evil and eradicated it for, well, good. 

Of course, that did not happen. But in the eyes of Heaven, Aziraphale was the one to blame.

Because of this, each and every one of the angels before him were highly skeptical and determined to believe every word he spoke was blasphemy of the blackest sort. Muttering and the occasional dark glares and the hostile tones were ghostly re-enactments of the events of that horrible day one year ago. He feared they would begin jeering once again, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle himself. There weren’t twenty million of them, but fifty-four was still an awfully large number for one angel.

In short: it was not going well.

_ Results,  _ hissed a particularly venomous Gabriel in the forefront of Aziraphale’s mind. Slightly flustered, he kicked himself into a higher gear.

When all else failed, at least he could turn to familiarity’s embrace to keep him warm. When Aziraphale was lost, he went back to what he knew, and what he knew was this: he had been fired from his position on Earth. Currently, he was being held hostage in Heaven and forced to do its bidding, which involved lecturing a whole bunch of angels about humans because the angels kept getting killed when they went to Earth, or were so shaken by being on Earth, they wanted to leave. He had to tell them how to not do that.

There was the problem laid out in the simplest terms. Now, here was where familiarity parted with him and introduced him to the chilly unknown. There were several ways to go about resolving the problem, and dozens of meta layers to dig through to reach the big  _ Why  _ of that problem, but there were only a few ways Heaven would see as the ‘right’ ways. Lecturing on about the knotty ethics and morality of humanity was was not one of them at the moment. Aziraphale had to focus on the very absolute matter on how to teach fifty-four angels of Heaven about Earth in a manner that would not get themselves, himself, a human, or Crowley killed.

To digress from the philosophical concerns, Aziraphale had to wonder—what was it that kept getting the angels discorporated, anyhow? Or made them want to leave so quickly? Getting hit by a car or getting a paperweight dropped on one’s head wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence. And humans were typically fairly pleasant most of the time. He would need to wheedle information out of Sandalphon before he proceeded, somehow.

He told the angels to hold a short discussion amongst themselves. If he wanted to make the progress Heaven wanted in a timely manner, he would need answers to factual questions as soon as possible. Quietly, he approached a nearby angel and asked if she knew where he could find Sandalphon. She stared at him blankly before sliding what looked like a thin piece of glass out of her pocket—

Oh. Oh—Oh  _ drat.  _ He knew he should have taken up Crowley’s offer to teach him how to use those delicate new mobile phones that were coming out. This one looked even more alien than Crowley’s—it was completely made of translucent blue piece of glass. Completely unspectacular, and completely alien. At least Crowley’s black phone had a discernible screen and a frame and a button to press.

“ _ Hardly anyone uses a rotary phone anymore, _ ” Crowley had said. “ _ You really should get with the times, angel. At least the technological ones if literally nothing else—they move fast. _ ”

And Aziraphale, what a fool he was, had turned up his nose and scoffed, “ _ I will keep my telephone, thank you very much _ .” The phrase “to bite him in the arse” almost felt too appropriate. 

“You’ve reached the Head Office of the Divine and Eternally Ethereal Businesses of Heaven,” a smooth, baritone voice said. “My name is Barratiel, how may I assist you with your inquiries today?”

Oh, bless her, the angel had made had made the call for him. She held the phone out to him. He took it and uncertainly held it up to his ear the same way he had seen Crowkey do dozens of times. “Erm, hello. This is the Principality Aziraphale.”

All at once, the smoothness became as slick and cold as ice. “Aziraphale. What business do you have to conduct today?”

“I need—I would like to speak to Sandalphon. Is he available?”

“I’m afraid Sandalphon is quite busy at this time. May we redirect you to one of his assistants?”

“No, I’m afraid it needs to be Sandalphon. He has—”

“I’m sorry, but Sandalphon is unavailable at this time. You may either speak to his assistants or I suggest you please call again later.”

“I—Um. I’m sorry, but I must insist to speak to Sandalphon!” It probably would have come out more authoritative if Aziraphale were not speaking into the phone upside down. He did not know he was doing so, and thus it did not. “It is imperative that I do so, for Heaven’s sake!”

“I can pass a message to him noting that you would like to speak with him,” replied Barratiel, completely unfazed. “He will likely get back to you between five to ten business days.”

Aziraphale scowled. “Fine. Fine! Are you absolutely positive there is no way to speak to him now?”

“Yes,” he answered, clipped. “Is there anything else?”

“I swear he just left me alone five minutes ago. How can he already be busy?”

“Her Archangels have much work to be done,” sniffed Barratiel. “No thanks to you.” Aziraphale took the phone off of his ear and gaped at it. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Lord, give him the strength to not snap this piece of glass into a million splinters. “No,” he sighed, “I suppose not.”

“Peace be with you.”

“And with your spirit,” Aziraphale said robotically. He hears a strange crackling sound that was similar to someone blowing in his ear. Was that the end of the call? It was awfully hard to tell with mobile phones. He pinched the bridge of his nose and vowed to make an attempt to reintroduce the landline into modern London society once he returned.

“How are things going, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale yelped and nearly dropped the phone. He batted it in the air a few times before snatching it and clutching it close to his chest. “Ah! Gabriel!” He cleared his throat and straightened up as best he could. “You, um, weren’t gone for long.”

Gabriel wasn’t watching him, electing to let his gaze sweep disapprovingly over the angels as though they were a menagerie pacing around and waiting for Aziraphale to give them an order to obey. Aziraphale could not help but notice the way they shrunk back and hid their faces. “It was noted that no one has sent anyone down yet. I wanted to see the holdup.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “I need more time than that! There’s—quality control, and don’t get me started on the information itself I must give, not to mention there’s too many details you’ve neglected to give me—”

“It sounds like you’re already struggling.” Gabriel smiled coyly.

“I am doing just fine, thank you,” he gritted out. The phone was unceremoniously stuffed back into the other angel’s waiting hand _ .  _ “ _ However _ , there is one question I would like you to answer. And just the one.” Sandalphon may have had all of the papers, but as much of an airhead as Gabriel was, he had to know  _ something,  _ didn’t he? “What were the main causes of the angel’s, er, early retirement, shall we call it? One hundred and forty-six is an awful lot to burn through. I would like to avoid making the same mistakes.”

Gabriel pinned him with a filthy look. Aziraphale tried to keep his visible squirm at a minimum. Then Gabriel flicked his wrists and a decently sized stack of paper appeared. He shoved it harshly into Aziraphale’s chest, scowling.

“What you need will be there. Send one down within the hour, or we are retracting our part of the deal.”

As quickly as he had come, Gabriel was now gone again. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief before turning his attention towards the papers. A fair portion of them were blocked out with perfectly rectangular blocks of golden ink, but Gabriel had held true to his word—everything he needed was there.

“You don’t like him,” the angel who has leant him the phone commented quietly.

“He has not been the warmest to me in the past,” Aziraphale replied offhandedly. He began to skim through what papers he could, mentally making two separate lists of reasons for discorporation and reasons for resignation as he went.

“He isn’t warm to many,” admitted the angel. That caught Aziraphale’s attention. He looked at her, and she immediately glanced away. “I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. I’m distracting you. My apologies.”

She hastily joined her neighbor’s conversation. Aziraphale watched her idly for a few more seconds before going back to the lists.

The discorporated list was a good deal more convoluted than the other. The most recent incident was with Arael. Beyond that, a good bunch of angels appeared to have forgotten their human bodies needed an entire respiratory, circulatory, nervous and many other types of systems to make their human bodies function properly. One or two ended up in the wrong parts of town and were promptly… was he reading this correctly?  _ Mugged?  _ Aziraphale hastily decided he couldn’t think too much about that and moved on to what was a few more involving broken necks, one case about laughing too hard, a drowning, another one got hit by a bus—a note here claimed a human witness exclaimed, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ali!” at the moment of impact—and at least five cases off falling off of something tall. 

This list could be summarized briefly as follows: an angel’s downfall was a fatal misunderstanding of the delicacy of the human body. As well as traffic laws. 

That should be simple enough to remedy. He had read a fair amount of human anatomy books as they had come out, watching humans’ progress as they took apart their bodies to see what made them tick. Surely he could somehow pass on that information to these angels quickly enough. The Library would most definitely (read: Aziraphale very much hoped) have some form of an anatomy book or two. 

But as for the resignations… They gave Aziraphale a long pause. Where the discorporations had a wide range of freak accidents, the resignations cited one reason, and one reason only: it was overwhelming. Most details going into depth about those were redacted, but one phrase that caught his attention. It said, “It felt as though every being on Earth were crying out at once...loud...sorrowful…it hurts too much to stay.”

That was interesting. Aziraphale shook out the papers and miracled his reading glasses onto his face. It was not something that had occurred to him, but it sense. Where Aziraphale had learned over the course of six thousand years to push back his empathetic nature so as not to drown in the emotional tides of every living being on Earth, these angels were being thrown into the storm of the billions of souls all growing and shrinking, speaking and feeling, at once. It was a bit like wearing noise-cancelling headphones your whole life, then finally taking them off and realizing you’ve been at a sixty-thousand person concert the entire time. Of course it would be jarring and upsetting, especially if one had never known for sound to have the capacity to be that loud.

Aziraphale glanced around. Behind the angels, the white walls of the auditorium shined brightly. And Aziraphale knew beyond those walls was the metropolis of human souls, and within that maze were trees, gardens, flowers—

Maybe humankind was just too much. They had a hundred things to say and feel, a thousand unspoken social rules, and, of course, they had traffic laws. They were violently different from Adam and Eve, whose experience had been so limited. Nature, on the other hand, was both entwined in humanity, yet relatively unchanged within the grand scheme of things. A tree from the Garden and a tree from the park would look and behave almost the exact some way. A red rose from the Garden was not so different from a wild rose on a trodden path. An apple grown from the Garden behaved like an apple from a lone tree on a hill—perhaps that one was in poor taste. Aziraphale decided to try and keep the angels away from fruit for the time being. Regardless, perhaps nature would greet the angels with fewer consequences.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. It was worth a shot. “Pardon me,” he said to the angel who had lent him the phone. “What did you say your name was?”

“Ioael,” she answered. “And you never asked.”

“Right, of course.” He’d forgotten the brutal directness of Heaven. He was reminded once again of Crowley, who had never been one to sugarcoat (unless his pride was in peril), but he’d always associated that as a Crowley trait, not a Heavenly trait. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

Ioael studied him hesitantly before slowly saying, “And you.”

The pair went silent as every single head swiveled to stare. Aziraphale twisted his pinky ring. “Well, Ioael,” he said, “how do you feel about going to Earth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> barrattiel is the angel of support, and i figured, "hardy har, tech support" and here we are  
this chapter had a lot going on but i've discovered my multi-chapter stories move rather quickly anyhow. probably because i have to learn how to pace stuff still. the next few should slow down a bit, but in the meantime, well. things gotta get done!
> 
> also, as a side note, i cant remember if i've mentioned this, but i am not religious in any way. what i know has been absorbed from a decade of catholic education, and then that's been translated into, well. this. if i say something that's SUPER wrong, apart from how good omens absolutely decimates the bibe canon, please let me know!
> 
> edit: fixed some formatting stuff. i’m not sure what it is that makes ao3 put spaces between normal and italicized text, but i went back and tried to fix what i saw.
> 
> edit 10/10/19: i reviewed this chapter again to remember what needed to get done on chapter six and made some edits and clarifications. i saw i’d gotten the consistency on some minor details wrong and it bugged me, so i went back and fixed it. that being said, sorry for the delay with chapter six! schools been really sapping my energy and i get frustrated with the things i try to write. also, i’m sick. thank you all, though, for your patience <3


	6. Step 3.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale prepares Ioael for Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [bass boosted oof sound] hello everyone! my apologies for the long, long delay. school's been kicking my ass and i am TIRED, tired of classes, grades, reading this chapter again and again—so here it is! i hope you enjoy it! the next one is already underway, as i ended up having to split this chapter in half. :)
> 
> thank you for sticking around! enjoy the read!

The second the word ‘Earth’ left his mouth, Ioael leaped back as though stung. “Me? To Earth? How could you even begin to think I’m qualified to go!” she exclaimed. 

Aziraphale, frankly very fed up with this entire situation, put a light, comforting hand on her shoulder. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “But neither is anyone else here. Erm, anyone else here who is allowed to go,” he amended. The angels watching their conversation promptly resumed their discussions. Fixing them with a strong side-eye, he said, “Someone has to do it.” 

She shook his hand off. “That someone should be anyone other than me. I have—I’ve never been to Earth, even for just a message.” Ioael looked around desperately, but every gaze she met was swiftly averted. “Excuse me, but I may very well be the worst angel here to pick.”

“Ye of little faith,” muttered Aziraphale, who had just overheard two thrones arguing whether or not it was still blasphemous to eat a cheeseburger.

“What was that?”

“Hm? What was what?”

“You were saying something.”

“I suppose I was.” Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I was saying, erm. I was saying, very well then! If you think someone else should go, then…” Ioael stared blankly. “Oh, yes, if you want someone better to go, you must find them. Off you go. Chop chop.”

After an uncomfortably long pause, she rushed off.

Aziraphale watched as she approached a few angels. He couldn’t catch the words passed, but he had a reasonably good idea of what had been spoken when the group turned their wings on Ioael. She stood there for a few more seconds, trying to get them to listen, but they were completely ignoring her. After a few attempts, she gave up and moved on. The same scenario repeated itself three or four more times, excluding one instance where she flew up to the very back of the lecture hall to plead with the seraph. She said something that made them laugh, and then very seriously say, _Please leave me alone._

It was a little surprising at how reluctant they all were. Aziraphale could understand a majority, but maybe he had been hoping for a few like Arael. He would take the blasé confidence and naïtivity any day over this. They could _learn _from that. But they couldn’t learn anything if they were too caught up in their stubbornness, their anxieties, their indifference. Just what had Heaven told them about Earth?

Eventually, Ioael came back to him with her wings sagging in defeat. She came up short, the bitten lip and tenseness around her eyes saying everything.

“What’s got you in such a tizzy?” he asked gently.

Ioael furrowed her brow. “Got me in a what?”

“Why are you upset?” he tried.

“I never said I was upset.”

“Well, why so glum then? Look at yourself! Obviously, something isn’t sitting with you right to be dragging your wings around on the ground. Do pick those up, you wouldn’t want them getting dirty.” As if a speck of dust would even dare to be in here. 

Ioael’s mouth thinned. “I don’t see why this is your concern.”

“Because I’m meant to be helping you. I don’t know what’s bothering you, I can’t.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, distinctly annoyed. “Clearly no one else is willing, so I must go. That’s how it works.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s no use if you’re upset.”

“Well, what is it that you want from me?” she demanded. She threw her hands out to her sides, fingers spreading wide. “Do you want me to go to Earth or not?”

“Only if you want to. Do you?” 

“I cannot say I’m very… Inclined.”

“But someone must.”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t.”

“If I must.”

Aziraphale sighed at length. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this…” Ioael’s pale eyes narrowed sharply, and her hand swiftly went to her side. They both stilled and stared for a moment, Ioael at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale at the dagger handle gripped in Ioael’s hand. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she said lowly as she drew the dagger from its sheath. “And I won’t allow it.”

If she could tell him what he was doing, that would be news to him. Judging by how steady the blade being pointed at him was, she wasn’t going to be doing that any time soon, and for that, he huffed pointedly. “Oh, be a dear, and don’t make this difficult. Gabriel would have my hide if he’d found I’d be killed. I only want you all to draw lots.”

Ioael's arm drooped in surprise.

“What?” she said.

A white top hat with a shiny gold ribbon wrapped about it popped into existence at the snap of Aziraphale’s fingers. He’d meant for black, but it would do. “Since no one is volunteering, I have to find another way to send someone down whether they’re prepared or not. You will all write your name on something and put it in the hat. I’ll mix them up, and then take one out without looking. Whoever is drawn will go to Earth.” A very uninspiring silence answered him. “It’s something teachers on Earth will use with their students to encourage them to pay attention,” he added helpfully.

“We aren’t children,” sniffed Ioael. “We are respectable and dignified beings of Heaven.” She gave Aziraphale an indiscreet once over. “Or, well, most of us are. I will go. So you can put that—ridiculous hat away.”

The hat vanished with a wave of his hand. “Oh, good,” Aziraphale said, pleased, and trying not to ponder too hard about the way her mouth had twisted as she said_ most of us are._ “I was hoping you would say that.”

“You hardly gave me a choice,” she said as she resheathed the dagger.

“On the contrary, you made your own choice. It simply happened to not work.” Ioael had a second to be outraged before Aziraphale pushed on. “So. That’s that. I need to prepare you with a few things. What do you already know about Earth?”

As it turned out, Ioael knew quite a bit. But, for some odd reason, it was like everything she knew had been taken straight out of a “100 Fun Fast Facts About the Earth” booklet. None of the things she said, though mostly factually correct, had absolutely no correlation with each other. For example, she knew of Betsy Ross’s odd dental situation, and somehow that lead to how baby oysters were called spats. 

Aziraphale coughed politely. “Where exactly are you getting this, er, information?”

“The humans,” she said matter of factly.

“I thought you said you’d never been to Earth?”

“I’m a caretaker in the city where their souls live,” she explained. “I sometimes overhear things when they talk about their past lives, God bless their souls.” 

Aziraphale sputtered. “And you didn’t think to mention that before? That’s a wonderful insight to have!” He put his hand to his chin. “But I’m afraid I’ve misunderstood something? How would this make you the worst angel?”

Ioael hunched her shoulders, eyes falling to something to the right of Aziraphale’s shining shoes. “I would prefer if we didn’t discuss it right now. I have a job to do.”

“Right. Right, of course.” He brushed off his disappointment. “Have you happened to have read some of the reports from your friends?”

“About their visits to Earth? Of course. We all had to for review. Why?”

“Because I can assume that you’ve seen the accounts of the discorporations of your compatriots. Very unfortunate, but also easily avoidable. Do you know why?” That couldn’t have been encouraging. Who wouldn’t be reluctant about a job after reading that it had a one-hundred percent rate of either inopportunely killing or traumatizing your coworkers? 

“We could go in our angelic forms?” Ioael said with a hopeful lilt. “Then we wouldn’t have to deal with ‘cars’ and ‘breathing.’”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That would be nice, but you should know the reason why we can’t do that.” Ioael nodded after an expectant pause. “It would drive humans mad should they be unfortunate enough to see it. Rather counterproductive when you’re supposed to be helping them. But you don’t need to worry about an accident—I won’t be sending you to civilization right away, anyway.”

Ioael’s shoulders visibly relaxed even as she asked, “Why not?” 

“You said it yourself; your inexperience makes you vulnerable. I’m starting you out somewhere else, far from any people at all. It’ll just be you and nature. How does that sound?”

“Would it be wrong to say better?”

“Not at all—”

“So then why do we need the body?” a nearby angel butt in. He crossed her arms and blew a chunk of hair out of his face. “It’s so inconvenient.”

“Practice, of course.” Aziraphale nodded at Ioael. “You have your appearance picked out already. You just need your body. If I recall how the system works correctly, you should have one waiting for you at Heaven’s Incorporation for Corporations.” 

“Of course. Shall I ask for it now?”

“Please. And come right back here when you’re done. And don’t teleport right away, it takes some practice once you’re in your body.”

Ioael nodded stiffly. She turned on her heel and made for the doorway, the soft thuds of her boots quickly lost in the chatter. He watched her up until she was gone. Like a switch had been flicked, exhaustion hit him all at once, and he stumbled ungracefully back to slouch against the wall. He pressed his faint hand to his chest and closed his eyes, wondering if even angels could suffer from heart failure.

_Why?_ he wanted to ask, _Haven’t I done enough?_

Apparently not, because the seraph decided at that moment to descend from the back, stand approximately a foot in front of him, and state, _That does not make sense._

He startled, eyes flying open and his exclamation of surprise stolen away in a gasp. “Goodness! Erm, sorry, what?”

_Every deity of Heaven has a vessel made by our own hands_, the seraph intoned. _They should have been perfect. They should not have failed us. Why did they?_

That gave Aziraphale another pause. It was an entirely reasonable question, one he quite honestly did not have the answer to. The longer he thought, the less sense it made. His own body had been made by him, it was true. He's used it for his whole life. It had been through many a discorporation throughout his time on Earth. Each time it was, he went through the same process as anyone else: forms were filled, he waited around for a few business days, a new body would eventually be ready to receive his angelic form, and then he would be on his merry way. It never occurred to him to check if anything was missing. Surely he would have noticed if Heaven had forgotten something. But what made his body different from anyone else’s aside from appearance?

“I cannot say,” he finally said. “I don’t suppose you’ve done a test run?”

_You do not know._

“I’m afraid not.”

_Then how can you even begin to help us when you cannot fathom what the problem is?_

“I do know, I just—I don’t know how to fix it.” Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, and rubbed. “I was only freed from my prison today, my friend. I’ve hardly had a second to myself to think.”

_Why did you do that?_

Aziraphale moved his hand to the side. “Do what?”

_You put your hand to your face._

“Oh, it’s just—just a habit. Humans do it when they’re stressed or tired. It doesn’t do much besides make them feel a little better.”

The seraph lifted their palms and examined them as though they had never seen them before. Slowly, they brought their slim fingers to their long nose and pinched it.

_I do not understand how this is helpful,_ they said. 

“It just is. I really don’t know how to explain it. You’re supposed to do it up here, by the way, between your eyes, yes, there.”

_Nothing ‘just is.’ There must be a reason—_

“Well if there is, I don’t know it,” Aziraphale snapped. “If you find out, I would love to know.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I apologize for my rudeness, but you must understand my situation…”

_I do. It is well deserved._

The seraph floated off, distant and aloof as a will-o’-the-wisp prancing off in the dark woods. Aziraphale watched their retreating back with a scowl before Ioael reappeared in the doorway. She gingerly made her way between the seats, ignored the few questions tossed her way, stopped before Aziraphale, and very plainly declared, “This feels wrong.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Wrong how?”

She flexed her hands and rolled her shoulders around a few times. “Tight. Full. But too loose, too.” Aziraphale could physically see the disconnect; when her true form moved, her physical body took a second to follow the motion. “They gave me this pamphlet since it is my first time, but… I felt it would be helpful to have a second opinion,” she said delicately.

Aziraphale put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot in thought. “May I see it?”

Ioael handed him the pamphlet, a plain white paper folded up thrice. The front read ‘Your Guide to Your Brand New Body!’ But when he unfolded it, it unraveled and tumbled comically to the floor. Aziraphale pursed his lips and scanned the paper, which was written in horrible curling, metallic gold Enochian. It also was in the smallest font he had ever seen, and he had seen some microscopic prints before. 

“Well…” Aziraphale said as he neared the bottom. “This is alright for a start. But I’m glad you came to me first, because this is horribly outdated by some, oh, several hundred centuries.” 

“Hm.”

“‘Hm’ indeed.” He raised his hand to snap his fingers to roll the pamphlet back up. At that moment, a chine sounded. He lowered his hand as the wall beside the seats silently slid open. He hadn’t even realized there was an elevator here, he thought, as the Archangels stepped out, spotted him, and immediately made their way towards him. A few angels who must be their assistants trailed behind them. They looked equally as disdained by the environment as the Archangels were, but the expression looked wrong on their younger faces. 

(Somewhere, so very far back in Aziraphale’s clever brain, so far back he wasn’t even aware of the gears that had begun to tick, a Plan began to form.)

“You didn’t mention they would be here,” Ioael said lowly as the Archangels approached.

“I wasn’t aware they would be either,” replied Aziraphale in the same tone. “Gabriel’s visit earlier was a surprise. Now I suppose they’re all here to watch.”

The group came to a stop before him. Sandalphon had finally made a reappearance. It was the first time Aziraphale had seen him after he’d come to collect him from Earth. Their eyes met for a brief second.

_I’d rather be trapped in Heaven with you than be on an Earth without you!_

“We have live activity from the demon being reported,” Sandalphon stated in place of a greeting. “We need someone down there _now._”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, loosening his starchy bow tie, “you made it just in time. I was finalizing preparations for Ioael here.”

“Finally,” sighed Michael. Her assistant miracled a large piece of glass into existence and a sleek white pencil, with which he began to write on the glass. It was like Ioael’s phone, only larger. 

Sandalphon barely spared Ioael a glance. “Rank?”

“Angel of the Third Order of the Lowest Hierarchy,” Ioael answered without missing a beat. “I am eternally grateful for this opportunity that has been bestowed upon me.”

Aziraphale made a face that went unnoticed. Not a minute ago, she had nearly been panicking about even the concept of going to Earth, and here she was now, smiling and entirely unruffled. The only thing that gave her away was her obviously scripted response. Still, it had been so perfectly executed, he never would have guessed her to be anxious had he not been standing right next to her. 

Michael’s assistant scribbled something down.

“So,” said Uriel. “What are ‘preparations’ are we waiting on?”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “There is one last thing I must do. Does the Library happen to carry…” He hummed and miracled himself a pen. He took a couple of minutes to scribble down the names of the most recent anatomy books he could remember seeing around on the back of the pamphlet. “These titles?” He would miracle them up himself, but it would be much faster for Ioael to read rather than him trying to explain everything. Factual, dry information did not take long (read: almost any time) for an angel to process.

Uriel lifted their hands and made a series of gestures at their assistant, who took the list and vanished with a pop. Aziraphale whistled tunelessly while Ioael remained stonily quiet. Two minutes later, they returned with a stack of tomes precariously balanced in their arms.

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale. “I can take those from you.” The assistant cocked their head. Aziraphale held out his arms. “I can hold these?” he tried. The assistant shrugged helplessly. Uriel made another couple sharp, short gestures. Then their assistant finally came forward and deposited the books in Aziraphale arms.

He let out a soft, “Oh!” of understanding, feeling rather foolish as the familiar weight of the books settled in his arms. “Do tell them I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Uriel. “I don’t know the sign language of Heaven. And tell them thank you, as well, if you wouldn’t mind.”

As Uriel went to do that, Aziraphale turned to Ioael. “Read through these,” he told her, miracling the first book off of the top of the pile for her to grab. “Quickly. Adapt what they say to your human body—they don’t do well when everything isn’t in tip-top condition.”

Ioael took the book after a confused pause. She flipped it over as if she’d never seen one before. Aziraphale hoped very profoundly that this was not literally the case. Thankfully it wasn’t as she began to flick through the other at a speed no human could dream of matching. When she finished, she set the book down on what very well may have been an invisible shelf, floated down another from the pile, and went through it in the same manner as the first. 

The pile in Aziraphale’s arms quickly shrank. The Archangels attempted multiple times to interject, but Ioael either ignored them or literally did not hear them over her concentration. When she closed the final book about ten minutes later, she set it down and closed her eyes. Her body began to shift and swell and grow and shrink all at the same time, yet somehow never actually physically changing by any drastic magnitude. It was positively bizarre to watch.

When she eventually finished, she shuddered and shook out her hands a little. “That is _strange,_” she said.

“It takes some getting used to,” admitted Aziraphale. “Are you positive you have everything?”

“I had no idea there was so much happening in a human body at once,” said Ioael, seemingly unhearing of him. “Humans are… certainly an interesting creation. But yes.” 

He smiled. “Good, good. And do you believe everything is in working order?”

“I believe so. Is it normal to feel… heavy?”

“Mm, yes. Gravity is applying to you differently now that you have a real body and not one made of light.” He placed a guiding hand on the side of her arm and tilted his head towards the rest of the angels, who were leaning forward anxiously trying to get a good look. “Why don’t you go and give them these now?”

Ioael nodded but continued to stand in place for a moment. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “It’s odd to use muscles you technically would have been using all this time, but never did, and now you are? If that makes sense?”

That would make for a bizarre sensation, wouldn’t it? “Of course. Take your time.” After another few seconds, Ioael unsteadily tottered off. By the time she reached the first row, angels were already crowding around her and clamoring loudly.

“Can you feel this?”

“Ow—!”

“Sorry! What’d that feel like?”

Aziraphale turned to Uriel, tuning out the angels. “Thank you for the books. I have only one last request, and then we will be ready.”

“What is it?” they said with obvious irritation.

“Is there, ah, a way to allow everyone to watch? I’d like them to be able to take notes.”

Judgment flickered briefly across their face, and then they flicked their wrist. A small electronic sound whirred from above them. Aziraphale looked up and spotted a small white tile moving out of place for a plain white box to descend from the ceiling. A lens on the box opened up and lit up the wall with a jarringly bright blue screen. In the center, read “ON STANDBY” in white, capital letters with small wings decorating the beginning and end of the phrase. Ioael, who had finished passing out the books, took her phone out again, tapped the screen a few times, and then the feed was displaying the audience. The image shook and blurred as Ioael moved the phone to a pocket on the front of her shirt. No one seemed to notice nor care but Aziraphale, who was taken aback by the sight of his own appearance for the first time in a year.

He was startled by the exhaustion lining his expression. The wrinkles on his forehead and the corners of his eyes were deeper, more pronounced, and there were dark shadows swelling beneath his eyes as well. He simply looked unwell. Older, even. His hair had not grown out, but it hung limper than it usually did, greasy and untidy. It did not help that his favorite outfit, the one he had been wearing before he left, had been bleached almost entirely white and gray. He’d noticed it happening while he was trapped in his cell, but had been unable to do anything about it. It was likely too late to fix it now.

In fact, everything about his outfit had changed. It was crisper, far more shapely, and sharp than his usual formless clothing. The way it squeezed around his body made Aziraphale flush with embarrassment, which didn’t help matters. He looked like an old character from a comedy who was far too gone with the impossibility of eternal youth and tried to make themselves feel better by wearing things that did not suit them in the slightest. 

_Lose the gut? You’re a lean, mean, fighting machine. _

He never did like those punchlines. Uneasy, Aziraphale turned his back on the projection for the time being. Perhaps this meant he would finally have to take Crowley up on his shopping trip offers.

While he had been staring, someone had brought up a smaller version of the globe in the main lobby. It had a ring of symbols around it that Aziraphale recognized to be the proper way of transporting a physical body alongside the metaphysical. Ioael was circling them both, watching the wispy clouds in the globe swirl. Her apprehension had made a reappearance now that the Archangels weren’t watching. Aziraphale separated himself from them as discreetly as he could and went over to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, quiet enough for only her to hear.

“Yes,” she replied automatically.

“Are you?”

“I already told you yes,” she said, annoyed. “I need to go here, correct?”

Her finger hovered over the Isles. Unthinkingly, Aziraphale took her wrist and tugged it away. She flinched, and he quickly released her; she flexed her hand, befuddled. “My apologies. And erm, no, actually. Well, yes, you will, but at a later time.” He spun the globe around. “Perhaps there is a better place to start. It’s called ‘Oregon.’”

“I see—”

A burst of sharp laughter cut her off. 

“What?” Gabriel loomed on the other side of the globe with a demeaning smile. “She needs to stop that demon as soon as possible. Who knows what he’s done to the place!” He placed a palm on the globe and purposefully turned it back so England was once again presented to Ioael. Her face darkened.

“Of cour—”

Aziraphale frowned. “There’s no guarantee he’s even there at the moment.” Back to Oregon the globe went. “I must insist on this. It’s simply too much to deal with at once.”

And back to England. “There is a guarantee because that’s where the activity report listed his location to be.”

And back to Oregon. “Do you really think she’s in any condition to go fighting demons at this very second?”

England. “I know what’s best for Heaven.”

Oregon. “And I know what’s best for this angel! Or are you suggesting you would like to try for the one hundred and forty-seventh time, Gabriel?”

“Well, what does _she_ think?” Gabriel straightened and looked down his nose at Ioael. “Heaven, or herself?”

They both turned on Ioael, who squirmed. “I-I’m not sure, sir,” she said, speaking mostly to the globe. “This is by no means meant to have a selfish interpretation. But… if—if previous efforts have failed, perhaps it would be wise to listen to the Principality. Trying the same strategy over and over when it has proven fruitless is a waste of resources. He may have something new to offer that we failed to see before.”

Aziraphale grinned triumphantly, which earned him an impressively unpleasant glare from Gabriel. The globe, at least, stayed put.

Ioael coughed delicately. “Why here, may I ask?”

“Yes,” said Gabriel coldly, “why there.”

“Ah, well, you see forests here are typically very isolated once you get deep enough into them,” he explained. “There’s still plenty of life, of course, just not human life.” Admittedly, this was an educated guess. He hadn’t been to the Northwestern parts of the United States in centuries. But he felt confident in assuming the flora of the ecosystem had not changed drastically in recent years, aside from what had been done with colonization and urbanization.

“What should I expect?”

“Trees, mostly. Some shrubbery, a good deal of moss—”

Gabriel snorted. “_This_ is what you’re providing for your half of our arrangement?” Aziraphale’s skin broke out into gooseflesh. “If you’d told me our problems would’ve been solved with a little nature walk, I would have left you alone.”

“Gabriel,” Michael soothed, “there must be a reason for this. And though I loathe to admit it, he knows what he’s doing. We mustn’t interfere too much.”

Aziraphale shot her a thankful look. “Yes, there is going to be a lot of plants,” he told Ioael. “But they’re about the safest thing I can imagine for you at the moment. Oh, though, you may wish to find a place to sit down once you arrive.”

Ioael’s expression tensed in suspicion, but Gabriel cleared his throat and tilted his head pointedly at the globe, so Aziraphale gestured her on. Tentatively, she stepped inside the circle.

“I will alert if you if you are in danger,” he assured her, “which I doubt there will be any. I promise. Go on. I’ll be here.”

Her finger touched the globe. In a blur of white smoke, Ioael vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'll see you all in the next update :D  
and a special thank you to TS on the gomens holiday swap discord server for helping me through with my crisis about posting this. you really gave me that final push i needed <3
> 
> ps: i didn't see anything new to add to the tags, but if you feel like there is something you would like added, please let me know!


	7. Step 3.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ioael goes to Earth and Aziraphale is almost fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo wee it’s been a hot second! school’s still kicking my ass. taking ap physics was a mistake and my energy is [sadly dabs] gone! but i made this, so I’ve got that going for me.
> 
> enjoy! <3

The standby screen had returned once again. Aziraphale stared up at it, shifting his weight from foot to foot every few seconds. The room was stiflingly quiet. Even his nervous swallow sounded deafening. Did it take that long to travel from Heaven to Earth? To him, it was a near-instantaneous journey. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Going Up from Earth felt like an eternity in a white elevator with no music, except the elevator was not an elevator at all, but rather an open, endless expanse of white light rushing through him from every direction. The music was still absent, though. 

The point was, going back _down_ was much quicker. 

“I presume it will come back when she arrives?” he said aloud to no one in particular. One of the assistants hummed affirmatively and then went to join Gabriel as he moved away to stand alongside the other Archangels. The rest of the angels behind him began to murmur to one another, some doubtful, some afraid, many curious. Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back. 

“I hope you thought of some questions,” he said to them. “Now is the time to seek out any information you think you will find useful when—if—you go.”

At that moment, the feed snapped into a blurring view of green and brown. When it âme back into focus, Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. On-screen was a view towering firs and pines. A faint mist curled daintily around the trunks. Some of them wore a green coat of moss. As Ioael looked around, he caught sight of some red toadstools and vibrant ferns carpeting the forest floor. It had been so long since he’d seen anything so—so _natural. _The asymmetry of the tree branches, the distant echo of birdsong, the delightful mix of muted greens and browns… Longing hit him hard of the chest, threatening to overwhelm him with memories of the smell of freshly cut grass, of glittering ponds, of walks in the park—

“Can you hear me?” Michael asked in a clear and firm, but otherwise reasonable speaking voice. Aziraphale was suddenly very glad she had spoken first. He would have shouted if he’d been able to talk at that moment.

“Yes,” came Ioael’s voice from hidden speakers around the room. She turned around, revealing a slick fallen tree covered in squashy looking moss. “This is—Oh. Wow. Oh, what is that smell?”

“More like, what’s that _sound_,” groused an angel. Aziraphale listened but didn’t hear anything but the gentle pattering of rain that played underneath the rustles of Ioael moving the phone around. “You sound staticky. You should check your connection. I bet Earth is just messing it up.”

Ioael hummed. She, as far as Aziraphale could tell, did not make any effort to rectify the issue. For a couple of minutes, the only sound was the clear warble of a curious sparrow.

“You said it sounded like static?” Ioael finally said quietly. 

“Yeah.”

“I believe it’s the rain. It sounds a little like that here, too. But nicer.” She directed the camera upward. The feed bloomed white as the camera struggled to adjust to the light. When it did, a canopy of needled branches piercing a gray sky bloomed on the screen.

“Why is it raining?” piped up another angel. “What did the humans do this time?”

“Rain is a part of Earth’s weather cycles,” Aziraphale replied after a delayed moment. Ioael hummed again. The angels behind him made a few noises of disbelief.

The delay could be blamed on the realization that the first reaction to rain was ‘what did they do?’ None of them blinked an eye. None of them went, ‘Ah, rain makes that sound when it comes through a speaker,’ no, it was, ‘what did they do?’

“Does it hurt?” asked an angel next to the lone seraph. His expression was made of equal parts of fear and curiosity.

Ioael’s nervous hand appeared, palm upturned. A fat droplet splattered against her skin. Her hand twitched, and she inhaled perhaps a touch harder than usual, but she did not otherwise react. “No,” she said slowly, rubbing her fingers together, “not at all. It’s cool and wet. It feels rather pleasant, actually.”

A feeling of hope swelled in Aziraphale as Ioael held her hand out again and allowed more raindrops to fall on her. Then the feed returned to chest level and began to move towards a tree. Ioael gently placed her hand, faintly shiny with rain, on the bark of a gnarled fir tree. She dragged it down slightly, following the grain. “This is quite rough,” she said idly. “Bumpier than I thought it would be.” She stilled, fingers curling slightly as her voice trailed off.

“That’s very nice,” said Sandalphon tightly. “We’re all very moved. Are we done touching trees now? Can we get on with it?”

“Yes, we’re very far behind schedule,” his assistant added unhelpfully. “We won’t be able to recover if we do not act within the next two minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“Right,” said Ioael hollowly. She did not move from the tree. The tendons in her hand tightened as her gentle hand became clawlike on the bark. Aziraphale could hear her breathing much louder than before.

“Well?” said Gabriel, oblivious. “What are we waiting for?”

A whimper answered him. Fearful whispers filled the room with an anxious buzz. Even a flare of Michael’s enormous mottled wings could not silence them.

“_What’s happened?_”

“_She’s hurt!_”

“_Why aren’t they doing anything!_”

“I’m okay,” gasped Ioael. “But—but I-I can hear—hear so many things. This tree the air, the rain, the soil, everything, I can h-hear it—”

Sandalphon wheeled around, anger turning his face and to the crown of his head an ugly shade of red. Aziraphale automatically took a step back, only to bump into Uriel. “Why is this still happening?” Sandalphon demanded. “You were supposed to fix this! This was the only reason we gave you mercy, the one job you had, and you can’t do that right, you miserable—”

“It’s her first time on Earth,” Aziraphale explained desperately, “she hasn’t figured out the whole”—he waved his hand up and down his body—“empathic shielding bit. It’s a bit hard to explain it, you know, even if I did have the time—”

“Well, get on with it! You’re causing a scene!”

_You aren’t helping at all!_ Aziraphale wanted to shout. Instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath as he smoothed down the front of his coat with sweaty hands. Panic plucked his tentative confidence right out of his grip and hurled it down a cliff. It passed by his hope, which was stubbornly hanging on to the face of the cliff, and waved. Too much was happening at once. He was trying to think of things to calm the angels almost leaping out of their seats, things to get the Archangels to quit breathing down his neck, ideas to help Ioael, some plan that could do it all at once, something that could fix it at the snap of his fingers, and then after? What _about_ after—

“Why are you just standing there?” Uriel snapped. Aziraphale jolted. He couldn’t afford to panic now: Ioael needed him.

He only partially understood what Ioael was going through. He sympathized with the overwhelming panic, but that was where their similarities ended. The significant difference was that he had the luxury of learning how to push it all back, one thing at a time, over six thousand years. Ioael had the memories of that tree, its thousands of past lives, and everything it was connected to rushing her all at once.

_Alright, alright… I—I dunno, say you’re taking a shower under a waterfall that comes from a leaky dam, and that’s alright, right?_

_Why would you—_

_Metaphor, Aziraphale, let it go._

Yes. Yes, Aziraphale remembered this conversation with Crowley. It happened after a few instances when nightmares of fire and flood and finality rampaged through his sleep. And what they talked about… the metaphor went on, and he couldn’t recall all of it right now (the memories had fallen out of his carefully organized boxes). He needed to find out how it ended, though, the part where they got to fixing things. But the noise, the shouts of aggravated angels, the demands of the Archangels—he couldn’t concentrate long enough to get his thoughts together.

“Erm. Excuse me!” No one paid a lick of attention to his words. “Excuse me! I need—If you could please quiet down!” he tried again. He could have sworn the noise got louder. “_Excu_—”

A hand touched his shoulder. It was Michael, smiling slightly with amusement.

“Allow me,” she said. She cleared her throat. “If I may have your attention?”

Though she had not raised her voice, the angels went silent as though a bolt of lightning had struck them dumb. She gestured to Aziraphale, who took a moment to respond.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. He inhaled. 

_The dam breaks. It doesn’t really matter how. All that matters is that you’ve suddenly gone from a trickle to a flood, and you can’t tell which way’s up or down, and you can’t breathe, but you can’t actually drown either, obviously. That’s what it feels like._

_...I think I understand. How do I help you… get out?_

_Ground me. Give me a direction. _

Exhaled. “If you’d listen closely, please.” Aziraphale tweaked his bow tie and swallowed nervously. “To help Ioael, I need you all to stay calm. Panicking for her and, and yelling, it absolutely will not help her. Are we clear? Yes? Yes. Good. Ioael, my dear, can you hear me?”

Unsurprisingly, he did not receive an answer. He waited patiently before he tried again. The tension barely restraining the nervousness and panic of the angels was thick enough to cut and serve on a plate. Aziraphale swallowed. 

Gabriel let out a frustrated growl. “This is taking too long,” he snapped, lifting a hand. “I’m summoning her back here now, someone else can take her place.”

Alarm flared in Aziraphale’s head. “No!” he yelped. “I can guarantee that will only serve to make everything so much worse, Gabriel! Don’t summon her!”

“What did I just say about not interfering?” Michael added firmly.

Gabriel cowed at Michael’s words. Though removing her from that environment was not actually a bad idea, Aziraphale did not want to test how going from feeling everything to not being able to feel would shock her senses. Onscreen, the feed lowered and then tumbled in dizzying circles to the ground. The screen went black.

“There’s so much,” Ioael whispered, “there’s so much to say, and feel—so much sadness and pain it wants me to—and-and—I can’t fix it! I-I don’t—” She made a horrible, pained noise. Someone in the audience began to whimper as well. They were shushed by their neighbor.

Sympathy flooded Aziraphale’s body. “I know, my dear,” he said gently, “I know. There’s much history to be told in these old things. They remember everything. Pain, loss, death, and so much worse. But there really is not much you can do to remedy it right now.”

“B-but I need t-to help—” Ioael hiccuped.

“You aren’t under any obligation to do anything.”

Ioael’s short pants morphed into an intense series of strained breaths. “How could I not be? This—this is what I was created for—”

“Your duty will be waiting for you once you have returned to yourself. You will not have failed it simply because you cannot handle it at this very moment.” Aziraphale spread his hands out. “Ioael. Your angelic being is made to sympathize, to love—you are feeling it because you care so, so much. You should embrace that gift She has given you.” He paused, allowing his words settle in the silent room. He must choose his next words carefully. “But despite that, our love—our pure love—can be spread too thin. Especially on Earth.”

“Wh-what do you mean? H-ow is that possible?”

“We are not infinite like She is,” Aziraphale said. He glanced back at the angels; they were watching him raptly. “There’s billions and billions of souls present on it and within it. As a creature of divine light and love, they are all drawn to you. They want someone to listen. When you haven’t learned to keep them at bay, your angelic form becomes overwhelmed. I believe that is what is happening to you now. Does that make sense?”

She heaved a few more heavy, shuddering breaths. “Yes,” she gasped. “How do—guh—you know? I—How do I—stop it?”

“If I’m not vigilant, I get lost in it myself sometimes. I remember what my first few years on Earth were like.” While it was true, he’d never experienced it the way Ioael was currently, Aziraphale still recognized the panic at the loss of control. “You have no reason to be afraid, though. There’s a way out. You must return to the mortal limit.” 

“I don’t und-understand.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Y-Yes,” came the reply after a moment.

“Fantastic. What do you feel beneath you?”

“The… The ground? And-and so much life beneath it, it’s so—” A sob choked off the rest of her sentence. 

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale said kindly. “Stop there. Take a few deep breaths. In for three counts, hold for four, and blow out for four.”

He waited until he heard the shiver in Ioael’s breathing smoothed out. Tense silence pressed up against his back, waiting for a foot to slip, a handhold to wiggle free, so it could drag him down into a churning sea. After around twenty minutes, she rasped. “I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not,” he assured her firmly, shooting Gabriel a fierce glare before he even opened his mouth. “You’re very brave for accepting this task. Ioael, can you close your eyes and tell me what’s beneath your hands?”

“The—hic—dirt?” she mumbled uncertainly. “Some pine needles, too.” 

“Mm, yes. Can you tell me what that feels like? Only the physical parts you can feel on your hands—ignore the fungi, the root system, the creatures that make their home there. Tell them you’re busy at the moment. Just focus on what’s touching you at this moment.”

Another faint rustling could be heard, almost overpowered by Ioael’s wet sniff. “It’ s—damp. And cool. Rich.” The dry slide of skin on skin. “It’s sticking to my palms a little bit.”

“Excellent. Will you tell me more?” Aziraphale urged.

“The pine needles are a little sharp. One is poking my backside. Can I move?”

Aziraphale chuckled while a few angels tsked. “Of course, my girl. You don’t need to ask me. Do what feels best for you. What do the pine needles feel like?”

“The pine needles are bendy. And smooth.” Ioael made confused noise. “Something is touching my hand. It’ s—small. I’m holding it now. Oh, it’s a little sharp…” She gasped, and something hit the ground with a quiet, dry sounding _thump_ a second later. 

“Are you alright?” an angel finally dared to speak.

“Y-Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. It just—whatever that was had a lot to say. I dropped it.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Aziraphale told her. “When you’re ready, open your eyes and focus on something else.”

Ioael took a deep breath. “I think I’m alright. I, erm, told the mushrooms that my line was busy.” She laughed wetly. “That sounds—silly. But it worked.”

There were a few frantic sounding movements behind him. When he glanced back, some angels were scribbling down something on a notepad or clipboard. Aziraphale smiled. “Well, that’s excellent! But perhaps you should take a few more moments to—”

The view of the trees spun back into focus, partially obscured by a blurry speck of dirt. Aziraphale thinned his lips in concern but did not protest like he wanted to.

Ioael’s rounded fingernail delicately brushed the dirt away, temporarily revealing her tear-soaked face. “I think that’s what I was holding,” she said, pointing the camera back down to the forest floor. A small brown pinecone laid innocently at her feet. 

“What is it?” asked the same angel who had asked if she was okay.

“I-I don’t know. There’s more on the trees, though.” The feed showed a particularly stout pine tree squatting between two towering firs.

“_Now_ can we get a move on?”

Aziraphale jumped and then shivered as a cold feeling sank like brine in his gut. He’d entirely forgotten about the Archangels’ presence. Sandalphon looked ready to smite someone. Michael was wholly entranced by what was happening on the feed. Uriel kept shooting glances back at the crowd, and Gabriel was unblinkingly watching Aziraphale.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, swallowing. “After what you witnessed, do you truly believe Ioael is ready?”

Michael answered, “She knows how to control her own emotions now. Is that not the biggest threat now eliminated?”

“Yes,” said Ioael, a million miles away, “it was. But—that was only the first time. And it was a single tree that did that to me. I’m not sure we should proceed when—”

“Learn by doing, I always say,” Gabriel said brightly. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them unnecessarily briskly before dropping them back to his sides. “You can figure it out. You have a job to do, don’t you, Ioael.”

“Yes,” Ioael agreed reluctantly. 

Aziraphale physically recoiled as though he’d been struck across the face. He’d gotten too far into his own hopes. True, he could accomplish his part of the deal by giving them knowledge about Earth. Truly, that was what he wished to do. But the angels of Heaven did not want to go to Earth to learn. It did not matter how many panic attacks Aziraphale helped them through, or how many trees he showed them, or what they thought about rain. They did not want to learn about languages or mannerisms or social patterns. They did not want to explore the Earth She had made. 

_Our respective offices don’t actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list. _

And that was precisely what Earth was to Heaven, what Crowley was to Heaven. Another box to tick off and never think about again. 

It frightened Aziraphale to the core, and he vowed, _None of them can **ever** get near him._

“And you…” Gabriel loomed before him, the well-practiced smile of someone used to getting what they want stealing across his features. “Well, you did it. Off you go.”

Aziraphale blinked once. Then twice, then thrice. “I’m sorry?”

Gabriel waved his hand dismissively, already turning away from him. “You taught them about Earth. That was the deal. You can go.”

“Where?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely confused. “Why, do you mean back…?”

Gabriel stared blankly at him for a brief second and then guffawed heartily. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t leave here. You could, I don’t know, wander around, check the place out. Get some steps in. The Lord knows you need them.”

(Far, far above them, the Lord very much disagreed with that claim.)

An angry blush warmed Aziraphale’s sullen cheeks. “I didn’t have to accept your offer,” he said through gritted teeth. “I hardly had any reason to. You could at least be grateful.”

“Oh, but here’s the funny thing.” Gabriel faced him again, hands tidily folded behind his back. “You want to go back to Earth, don’t you? You want to see that demon again.” Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, Gabriel must have seen something because he laughed again. “Did you really think we wouldn’t know? Sandalphon was right there, you know. _Drinking_ with a demon? Come on. Oh, yes, you had plenty of reason to accept. Even if you didn’t, well, I frankly don’t see why you’d want to extend this pathetic life of yours any longer than you have to.”

Purely by coincidence, a lull in conversation left Gabriel’s words ringing far louder than he probably intended to.

_That was…_ murmured the seraph.

“Unusually cruel,” finished an angel.

“It can’t be,” scoffed another. “Gabriel cannot—he can’t be. He’s an Archangel. And you saw what the Principality did.”

“But—”

“‘Love all creatures—’”

“Do you honestly think _he_ is still deserving of Heaven’s mercy? He should have Fallen long ago.”

Gabriel smiled tightly. “An old joke between us,” he said coolly. “And I would appreciate it if we weren’t eavesdropped on.”

“Hardly eavesdropping, Gabriel, we’re standing in the middle of a crowded room—”

“Shut up.” 

Ioael’s face took up the projection. Her eyes were red and puffy and tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. “Pardon me for interrupting,” she said. “But I would be much more comfortable with the Principality’s continued instruction. I do not doubt your capabilities, sir,” she hastily amended, “it’s just that… this felt much more successful compared to what my siblings went through when they returned from Earth.”

“I fail to see how this is your call to give, Ioael.” Gabriel smiled. It was the kind of smile a patronizing teacher would give to a student. _You’ve had your fun with your silly questions. Now keep your mouth shut._

“I—It isn’t, sir, of course not,” Ioael stammered. “I intend no disrespect. It seems logical, is all.”

“It’s true,” Michael said quietly. Every gaze shifted to her. “This was, by far, our most successful expedition.”

“That simply isn’t true!” Sandalphon exclaimed. “There are plenty of angels who made it longer, and who didn’t have the same reaction. An hour on Earth, and Ioael spends ninety percent of it crying, and she comes nowhere close to our goal. In what world is that a success?”

“Yes. Tell us, Michael,” said Uriel. “How?”

Michael regarded both of them cooly. “Because,” she said calmly, “Ioael is now the only angel out of this group that has a solid plan for when this happens again. She cannot be surprised by it. And if you must be reminded, the large majority of our angels reported this exact situation happening to them, hence their numerous requests for early retirement. That alone gives her an enormous advantage. We cannot afford to squander by sending away the Principality now.”

Aziraphale held his breath. Michael tilted her head up in challenge at Gabriel, who narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine,” he spat. “He stays.” Aziraphale blew out a relieved breath, straightening quickly when Gabriel shoved a finger into his face and hissed, “We’ll be watching you.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale chuckled weakly. “I would expect nothing less.”

Gabriel stalked back over to the wall where the elevator doors were still dutifully held open. His assistant scurried after him, and the rest of the Archangels soon followed suit. Michael trailed the back of the group before stopping entirely a few feet away from Aziraphale.

She turned to him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good luck,” she said blandly. “I’m sure you’ll need it.”

“Thank you?”

She nodded stiffly and turned away, heels clicking loudly in the silent auditorium as she strode away. The elevator doors closed, and Aziraphale was alone.

“Well,” he said. “That happened.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“It’ll be a pleasure working with you,” came a soft voice. Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his own skin. 

“I—Yes, you too, Ioael,” he said quickly. “And—and all of you.” This statement was offered to the rest of the angels, who met him with a mix of expressions. Some appeared to be genuinely excited, some afraid, many suspicious, and a few who remained carefully blank.

Aziraphale flashed a hesitant smile. “So… does anyone have any questions?”

Fifty-four hands shot up.

“Oh, my,” said Aziraphale once he recovered. “Alright. Well. We’d better get started then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops feat. my overstimulation issues being projected onto Ioael ): new places are hard man, but I’m trying.
> 
> also ik it’s a little short, especially after being gone for so long, but i didn’t know what else to throw in here without making it feel Too full, ya know?
> 
> speaking of which, i don’t know when i’m gonna get the next chapter up. finals are coming up and then I’ll be officially halfway through the school year. and then college! that’s wild! but i’m gonna be horribly busy, so i’m gonna say this story!s gonna be on hiatus for a bit until i get my shit together
> 
> thank you for reading up to this point. i love you all so much! <3
> 
> edit 1/02/20: I’ve read all of your kind comments, and i wish i could respond, but my Internet is a bitch to deal with right now :,) if it gives you any idea, i tried to respond to one with a note about my situation and my power literally went out for three hours. still, they’re all read and highly appreciated! they sparked enough inspiration to get to work on 3.4 right away before i get completely consumed by school again. thank you so much!!!

**Author's Note:**

> i’ll see if i can throw another chapter up tomorrow even if you don’t think it is necessary. to be frank, it isn’t. but i want it to exist. so it will. maybe. 
> 
> i’m winging this so if you have suggestions for what The New Guy as they don’t have a name yet is gonna have to put up with when on Earth, feel free to message me on [tumblr!](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com) or leave a comment! whatever floats your boat.
> 
> good night! pardon me for flow errors or mistakes, i’m Very tired and will fix them tomorrow


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